Something to Hide
by Old English D
Summary: Perry and Della are on vacation when an incident from Perry's past lands Lt. Arthur Tragg on the doorstep of their private hideaway.  Will relationships survive as what was heretofore hidden comes to light?
1. Chapter 1

_As a true lover of the ESG novels, Lt. Tragg was one of my favorite peripheral characters, and I was always a tad disappointed in the casting of Ray Collins in the TV show. In my conglomerate PM universe, Tragg is a contemporary of Perry's who could have been a friend, and who grudgingly admired our hero, but at the same time harbored a bit of envy for his notoriety and lifestyle - particularly where it involved a certain lovely lady. If one person has as much fun reading the story as I had writing it, I'll be tickled to death. ~ D_

Chapter 1

A bold banner headline on the galley proof filled nearly the entire top portion of the page, referring to a certain prominent Los Angeles attorney by name. Lieutenant Arthur Tragg of Homicide read the headline, as well as a dozen sentences of the article, before looking up at District Attorney Hamilton Burger with startled eyes.

"Is any of this true?" He asked, tapping the galley proof with a forefinger.

Burger was leaning forward, hands flat on his desk, watching Tragg read. He shrugged. "We'll get around to investigating."

Tragg had returned his attention to reading the article, halted after another couple of shocking paragraphs to look up at Burger again. "How did you get it? But more importantly, why did you haul me in here to read it?"

Burger sat down behind his rather Spartan desk and indicated for Tragg to sit as well. "The article was mailed to his office with this letter." He slid a piece of linen stationery across the smooth surface of the desk toward Tragg, who read the type-written words without picking it up.

Tragg whistled. "Quarter of a million dollars."

Burger picked up a small pile of papers, all matching pieces of the linen stationery. "There's more. Each one nastier than the last, all consecutively dated beginning five days ago. Look at the one dated yesterday."

A familiar feminine name leapt out at him immediately. He took the proffered letters and read slowly, a deep frown etching his forehead. "This guy certainly knows more about Mason than we do," he commented.

Burger leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "He's obviously peeved that Mason hasn't answered his letters and every day escalates the demands."

"How did you get these?"

"From his law clerk. Mason's office is closed, but Jackson has been picking up the mail daily. He noticed the identical envelopes, and opened one out of curiosity. Scared the pants off him and he called the police."

Tragg had now read all of the threatening notes and was skimming the galley proof again. "Have detectives attempted to contact this guy?" Whoever he was, it wasn't very bright of him to put such things in writing.

Hamilton Burger gave a quick nod. "We decided to have Mason's law clerk write a letter today and post it, explaining why there hasn't been a previous response. We're hoping for enough of a delay to locate Mason."

"Why not just haul the guy in for questioning?"

Burger uncrossed his arms and regarded Tragg impassively. "Because we have no idea where the guy is. All we know right now is the letters originated here in Los Angeles, posted by the magazine."

"You've interviewed the editor?"

Burger's expression changed to one of disgust. "We have. He's a weasel. He claims not to have met Wade Baynum, that the letters arrive via a different messenger service every day, and that he's operating under instructions of the magazine's owner. This is where things get interesting: the owner is a former client of Mason's. Eva Belter is her name, accused of murdering her wealthy, older husband."

"Doesn't sound like a very grateful client."

"You're assuming he got her off," Hamilton Burger commented testily.

Tragg grinned. "According to the article, Mason has never lost a murder case."

"I wasn't D.A. at the time her case was tried. I don't know the woman. She's conveniently out of town and unreachable."

"You still haven't told me why you dragged _**me **_down here. This isn't my expertise."

Burger again regarded Tragg with a slight smile. "I need someone official who is on friendly terms with Mason. It appears that when he goes on vacation, every friend or business associate he has either goes on vacation or maintains they don't know where he is. Aside from Jackson, we've located his receptionist, a typist, a stenographer, and a couple of law school buddies. Paul Drake is on vacation, but isn't where he's supposed to be." Burger cleared his throat. "Mason isn't where he's supposed to be, either."

What Burger left unsaid was not lost on Tragg. He raised an eyebrow. "And Miss Street?"

* * *

><p>After nearly twelve hours of searching, police still had not located Perry Mason, Paul Drake, or Della Street. An obvious trail of tickets, reservations, and cancellations under various combinations of names had been uncovered and traced, all to dead ends.<p>

Arthur Tragg had personally interviewed Mason's receptionist Gertie, the typist, the stenographer, and Mason's associate Carl Jackson. Aside from getting the distinct impression that the typist was seriously infatuated with her boss, he emerged from his office with only one bit of useful information: the name of Della Street's aunt, Mae Kirby. However, a phone call resulted in no further useful information. She hadn't spoken to her niece in over ten days, and insisted she had no idea where Della or Perry Mason might be. Tragg had hammered home the point that threats had been made, had attempted to impart an urgency in locating Perry Mason before any of the threats could be carried out, but although everyone was alarmed, they could not provide information as to his whereabouts. He hoped for Mason's sake they really had no idea where he was and weren't just acting out of loyalty to protect his privacy.

At hour eighteen of the search, Tragg was seated at his desk, head in his hands, staring unseeingly at a map of California. Lines and circles had been drawn in red indicating the false trail laid by Perry Mason, a crisscrossing of destinations systematically ruled out with endless telephone calls and the cooperation of police departments in a dozen cities.

At just after thirty-six hours of searching, there was a break. One of Hamilton Burger's assistant D.A.'s, bored with the task of culling leads through Mason's business contacts and practices, decided to delve into the attorney's personal finances and struck pay dirt. After several telephone calls, he presented Burger with his discovery and within two hours Arthur Tragg, by virtue of being "the closest thing to a friend" Mason had in the police department or the DA's office, was in an unmarked police car headed to a remote northern California lake. In a manila envelope on the front seat were the _Spicy Bits_ galley proof, the blackmail notes, and sketchy details of a disturbing background report involving a man named Wade Baynum, his sister Maryann, and Perry Mason himself.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Perry Mason had been settled into the hammock with a book and a glass of iced tea for only a few moments when he heard the boat motor in the distance. He didn't pay much attention to it at first and attempted to concentrate on the printed page, which he had read half a dozen times already without comprehending a single paragraph. An intruding regret tugged at him for choosing to lie in a hammock and read when he could be at the beach in the shade of an umbrella, listening to gentle waves tap the shore. He set the book aside and reached for the iced tea when he realized that the sound of the motor had gotten quite close, and was in fact no longer originating from the lake but was now in the channel. He tipped himself out of the hammock, stretched, and strode to the far end of the deck that overlooked the channel.

A small wooden skiff with one male occupant was putt-putting its way toward the dock. Mason leaned over the deck railing to better see who was intruding upon the secluded house. He swore quietly to himself as he recognized the man piloting the little skiff alongside the dock. Descending the steps from the deck to the wooden walkway two at a time, his expression displaying utter disbelief, Perry Mason arrived on the dock just as the skiff's pilot had successfully tossed the mooring rope around a piling and tied it off. He then pulled himself up onto the dock and rose to meet the lawyer's cold eyes.

"'Lo Counselor," Lieutenant Arthur Tragg said with a small salute.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm fine," Tragg answered conversationally, ignoring Mason's angry belligerence. "Sure is hot. Nice place. A bit off the beaten path, especially since the access road is washed out."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mason repeated.

"Don't mind if I do come up for a cold drink," Tragg again ignored Mason's question as he moved past him and strolled along the walkway. At the base of the stairs Tragg paused and glanced up appraisingly at the house perched on the hill. "Roughing it, I see," he commented laconically over his shoulder to Mason, who, after a moment's hesitation had followed him.

"I suppose I'll have to play along with you until you're ready to tell me why the devil you're here?" Mason seemed to be doing everything he could to ignore Tragg's comments.

"'Fraid so, Counselor." Tragg had reached the top of the stairs, and once again paused to take in the surroundings. His face was expressionless, but his eyes glittered with keen observance.

"Okay, sit down, have a drink, tell me _**quickly**_ why you're here, and then _**leave**_."

Tragg lowered himself into a cushioned patio chair and leaned back, squirming to get comfortable. Mason grabbed the glass of iced tea he had poured for himself, and placed it on the cocktail table in front of Tragg's chair. He sat down in a free-standing glider chair facing the Lieutenant, who had picked up the glass of iced tea and drained it in three long gulps. Mason made no offer to refill the glass as Tragg set it back down on the cocktail table.

"I ask yet again," Mason began evenly, "why the hell are you here, Lieutenant?"

Tragg looked at Mason steadily for a long moment. He could draw the process out, stall some more and push Mason to his limit, but knowing Mason's temper all too well, said simply, "Maryann and Wade Baynum."

Mason blinked. "Maryann and Wade? What the hell … I haven't seen either one in over fifteen years."

Tragg reached into his suit coat pocket and withdrew the manila envelope. After smoothing out the curve from being fitted into the pocket, he held it out to Mason. "I think you'll want to read this," he said gravely.

Perry Mason finished reading the last threatening note from Wade Baynum and laid it down on the glider seat next to him with the other papers from the envelope. He looked at Tragg with blank eyes, but his complexion had paled noticeably beneath his tan.

"I suppose you expect me to deny all of this."

Tragg shrugged. He had been watching the lawyer as he read each document, saw how he held himself stiff with increasing rage. "I have no expectations. We know Wade Baynum was your college roommate, that your first job out of law school was with Lambert Keating Associates in Sacramento, and that you lived in the Baynum home for several months before relocating to Los Angeles. As for everything else, we don't have definitive proof either way. Yet."

Mason stood suddenly and moved to stand behind the glider with his back to Tragg. "And if I ask you not to investigate any of the allegations?"

Tragg rubbed his tired eyes. It was hot. He had been driving for hours after being up for the better part of two days trying to track down the elusive lawyer. The iced tea had been blessedly cool, but its effects had expired and sweat was beginning to run down his back and puddle above his belt. He had a tightrope of official interrogation and personal curiosity to walk. "Does confirmation of the facts make any difference as to how the situation will be handled?"

Mason spun on him and grasped the back of the glider with both hands, picking it up a few inches and slamming it back down. "I don't deal in blackmail," he said through clenched teeth. "Wade Baynum can't prove anything but basic facts, but those facts can hurt innocent people. I want charges pressed for blackmail as well as an injunction filed to stop _Spicy Bits_ from publishing the article."

Tragg methodically reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and withdrew a package of cigarettes, tamped the bottom of the pack and held it out to Mason, who shook his head and once again turned away from Tragg.

"Burger is way ahead of you. He's already instructed Jackson to do both on your behalf as your attorney." Tragg leaned back against the chair cushion and regarded Mason with slitted eyes, the freshly lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Mason was definitely angry, and was definitely hiding something. And he had a suspicion as to what it was. Or rather, who.

Mason gave a swift nod. "That's fine. Except I want Jim Brandis to take over."

"Jim Brandis is out of town," Tragg informed him. "When the great Perry Mason goes on vacation, so does half the legal community."

Mason gave a small snort. "A lot of attorneys take vacation this time of year." He was thoughtful for a moment. "Frank Heartwell. Have Burger talk with him."

Tragg took a small notebook from the inside pocket of his suit coat and made a note of the name. He had interviewed Frank Heartwell yesterday at his office. "Doesn't seem like you have much confidence in your associate," he observed.

Mason waved his hand dismissively. "Jackson is competent enough to handle routine matters, but this calls for someone who's not afraid to fight dirty."

"Do I assume then that you don't intend to come back to Los Angeles right away to deal with this?"

Mason glanced quickly toward the sliding doors that led from the deck into the house, then back at Tragg. "I'm on vacation."

"And that will impress Wade Baynum how?"

"Wade Baynum won't act on his threats, and Eva Belter won't print the article unless she gets whatever it is she wants. They'll both have to wait until I'm good and ready to come back."

"Burger is offering protection. That would be difficult to do out here."

"I'm not afraid of Wade Baynum or Eva Belter."

Tragg stood and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "Don't you think you should be thinking about the safety of your companion?"

Mason glanced again toward the house. "What makes you think I'm here with someone?"

Tragg grinned. "Because I talked to a fisherman who said he brought you and a very attractive young woman out here five days ago, and because you keep looking back at the house."

Mason's expression was impassive. "Lieutenant, I swear to you there is no one in that house."

"Then you won't mind if I go inside and use the facilities before I head back to the marina." Tragg stood and moved purposely toward the French doors, Mason at his heels.

The interior of the house was shaded and cool. Tragg stood in the doorway, taking in the expansive details of the open concept great room. To his right was an enormous stone fireplace in front of which two overstuffed club chairs and a matching sofa were arranged, separated by a long, narrow oak coffee table. On the massive oak mantle were arranged an assortment of pottery, a basket of pine cones, and a wooden carving of a loon. To his left was an enormous round window, in front of which had been laid a hand-made oval rag rug. A very old oak table sat atop the rug, with eight mismatched but similar chairs surrounding it, and three old fashioned hurricane oil lamps were lined up in the center of the table. Back against the far wall to the right was a large kitchen divided from the great room by a bar at which four simple oak stools stood. A large staircase curved up to a catwalk hallway off of which four doors opened. In line with the French doors through which he had entered was another set of glass doors that led to a second terrace. The entire house was decorated in shades of blue, burgundy, and creamy white, in varying patterns of checks and stripes.

Tragg whistled softly and advanced further into the room. "Criminal law certainly is treating you kindly, Counselor."

"I can't complain," Mason answered in a clipped manner. "You obviously know I share ownership of the house with an old friend." He had remained standing just inside the French doors. "The bathroom is under the stairway off the kitchen."

Tragg continued his slow perusal of the gigantic room, barely acknowledging Mason's thinly veiled hint to attend to his business. A glint of metal underneath one of the club chairs had caught his eye and he bent to retrieve it. In his hand was a gold bracelet with a single charm of a Siamese cat.

* * *

><p>"Holy Mother of God."<p>

Perry Mason smiled to himself and turned to face his companion, who had stopped dead in his tracks. The smile widened into a grin.

"To Hell with Betty Grable," Tragg continued. "_**Those**_ are the world's most perfect legs."

Mason swung his gaze back toward the object of Tragg's admiration. "No argument from me."

Della Street, long-limbed and elegant in a white two-piece bathing suit, was languidly splashing ankle-deep in the clear, blue water, creating concentric ripples around her.

Tragg pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his shirt and lit it. "I must congratulate you, Counselor," he said, taking a long drag. "It appears the gossip-mongers had it right all along."

Mason's eyes went cold as whirled to face Tragg once again. "Watch what you say, Tragg."

Tragg took another long drag on his cigarette, tossed it aside, and blew twin streams of smoke from his nostrils as he contemplated Mason with suggestive amusement. "Come now, Mason. We're adults. I certainly wouldn't presume to judge either of you. Miss Street's exceptionally beautiful, and I suppose some women might consider a big lug like you handsome. I guess a little lust was bound to happen given how closely you work together."

"I'm warning you, Tragg, don't say another word. I brought you out here because I had no choice, and I ask that if you aren't inclined to respect my privacy, you'll respect Della's. Not many people know the truth about us, and that's the way we want it."

Tragg met the attorney's furious gaze, all humor absent. "Okay. I'll play your silly game. But I'm telling you there isn't one cop, lawyer, judge, court reporter, or bailiff that doesn't know Della's more than just your secretary."

Neither man blinked as they held each other's gaze for several seconds. It was Mason who broke first.

"I'm going to act like you never stepped foot on this property, and enjoy what solitude Della and I might have left before someone in the police department leaks our whereabouts to _Spicy Bits, _or Wade Baynum's interview is published, whichever comes first."

Tragg slowly shrugged out of his overcoat, hung it on a crooked finger, and swung it over his shoulder. "I'm sorry you don't have faith in the police department, Perry. Your safety and well-being are utmost in our minds."

With that, Tragg gave Perry Mason a sarcastic salute and continued down the path to the beach.

Della must have heard his approach as she suddenly turned with an expectant wave. Her hand stopped in mid-air when his identity became clear. After a moment's hesitation, she waded toward him.

"Lieutenant," she said, warily surprised. "What on earth are you doing here?" She stood before him, hand on hip, as cool and composed as if she were wearing one of her classic shirtwaist dresses instead of two scandalous scraps of fabric that exposed every womanly attribute she possessed.

"Messing up a perfectly swell vacation," Mason called out before the officer could respond. He jogged up behind Tragg and tossed a rolled-up towel toward the blanket Della had spread on the warm beige sand. Reaching out to take her hand, he squeezed her fingers gently. "I'm as surprised as you, darling."

The endearment unsettled Tragg. "The scenery definitely takes a back seat to you in that suit, Miss Street," he declared, despite the fact that he couldn't trust himself to look directly at her lush femininity so unselfconsciously displayed. The woman before him seemed younger, more uninhibited, more _**everything **_than the ladylike Della Street of his acquaintance.

Della glanced briefly at Mason then back to Tragg. If she hadn't already been highly suspicious of the Lieutenant's presence, the pressure of Perry's fingers and the fact that he had called her 'darling' in front of Tragg made her wary. "While I appreciate the gallant compliment, Lieutenant, I really would prefer a straight answer."

Tragg glanced from her lovely, sun-kissed face to the stony countenance of Perry Mason. "The District Attorney felt your boss needed to be informed of some recent developments concerning an old case. I volunteered for the chore." He grinned. ""Finding you here in that bathing suit was a pleasant surprise."

Della felt Perry stiffen beside her, his face an expressionless mask. "Somehow, Lieutenant, I don't think you were so very surprised," she observed.

"My, aren't we suspicious, Miss Street."

"I'm sorry darling, but he saw something in the house and . . ." Mason stepped into the conversation.

"Honesty became the best policy?" She finished for him. Della looked from Mason to Tragg, then back again to Mason. "Is anyone going to tell me what's so all-fired important that Hamilton Burger thought it necessary to track you down and invade your privacy?"

Tragg fished in his suit coat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopped at the sweat beading on his forehead. "I'd be glad to, if we can find some shade first."

Mason shot him a perturbed look. "If you don't mind, Tragg, I'd like to fill Della in on everything myself."

Tragg continued to mop his face. "Whatever you think best, Mason." He once again swung his suit coat over his shoulder and bowed toward Della. "Pleasure seeing you, Della. I seem to have worn out my welcome with the boss, so I'll be heading back to the marina now."

Perry and Della watched silently as Tragg headed up the path toward the house.

Della turned to Perry with frank curiosity. "Give," she said.

Instead of answering, Perry Mason wrapped her in a bear hug, picked her up in his arms, and headed toward the lake at a dead run.

As he reached the stairs leading to the front terrace, Tragg could hear Della's laughter float up from the lake, followed by a splash, and Mason's booming laugh. He couldn't bring himself to look back at them.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Perry's breath was warm on her neck, the slick varnish of the bedpost cool against her cheek. When he moved away and sat back on the bed, she made a low mew of protest. He pulled her around to face him and down into his lap, cradled in his arms. She smiled up at him with lazy content.

"I absolutely love four poster beds," she breathed.

Perry Mason laughed softly and planted kisses into damp curls above her ear. "They do make things interesting."

Della's laugh matched his in softness as she turned her head to catch his lips in a languid kiss. Perry's long arms held her closer to his chest, her slim frame completely engulfed by him.

"Honey," her voice was muffled. "I can't breathe."

He loosened his arms slightly and pulled back enough to touch his forehead to hers. "I'm sorry, baby. Sometimes I can't get close enough to you and forget what a bitty thing you are."

She stretched against his chest in the circle of his arms and made a purring noise that nearly drove him mad. "And sometimes you say the most wonderful things without even trying."

He laughed again, ran his hand up her slender back, and she shivered. "Oh, you like that?"

"You know I do." She shivered again. "If you don't stop, we might have to skip dinner." She tried to sound firm, but the low moan punctuating the warning thoroughly undermined the effort.

His eyes, a deep navy blue of desire, drank in every detail of her flushed face as she lay in his arms. He loved her to his core. The simple fact that she breathed ignited emotions so raw they defied definition. When words failed him, he touched her, and he knew she understood his silence. Words had failed him today after Tragg's departure, bringing them to this lovely, sated moment.

Suddenly, in a quick, lithe maneuver, Della was upright in his lap, long, slender legs wrapped around his waist, her arms a lovely frame around his shoulders. Perry sucked in his breath as she pressed her mouth against his chest directly over his heart. "Why do I suspect that you and Tragg are keeping something from me?"

"Good grief, Della. How your mind works." He shook his head in disbelief.

"Darling, you forget how well I know you. You are not being completely honest with me. Why is Tragg here, and what did you tell him about us being alone together in this house?"

Perry sighed loudly, pivoted his body, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stood, Della held effortlessly against him as he walked toward the direction of the connecting door to the bathroom. "It's a long story. I'll tell you the abridged version while you take a bath."

Della nestled her head on his shoulder. "That's a deal. I could use a good hosing off."

"Well I should say, after all the exercise you've had today. Walking, swimming..." he broke off to grin broadly, "jumping."

"You can be such a naughty boy," she chided.

"And you wouldn't have me any other way," he agreed cheerfully.

Della listened silently as Perry, seated on the edge of the huge cast iron tub, told her about landing an associate position with Lambert Keating in Sacramento, moving in with his college roommate Wade Baynum, his short, intense relationship with Wade's sister Maryann, how it had ended when he decided to move to Los Angeles, and about Wade Baynum's interview with _Spicy Bits._ He glossed over the specifics of the interview, as well as the threats attached to the blackmail demands. And he could not bring himself to expound on his relationship with Maryann Baynum, the epicenter of her brother's interview.

When he related that Hamilton Burger's office and the police had worked for two days to track them down and admitted that hardly anyone in the Los Angeles legal community was fooled by their attempts to keep their personal relationship discreet, if not entirely secret, she lifted one delicate foot from the water and prodded his leg. "You're legal prowess has made you a celebrity, darling. Unfortunately, people love to gossip about the private lives of celebrities."

Perry smiled wanly at her and caught her foot in his hands. "If you weren't so breathtakingly beautiful, no one would bother gossiping about me."

"You made several appearances in the gossip columns before I entered the picture, Mr. Mason," she retorted archly, wriggling her toes. "You've always been unconventional and mysterious, which only adds to the curiosity people have about you.'

Perry sighed heavily. "It seems the older I get, the more convention appeals to me. If we were married . . ." He stopped when Della jerked her foot from his hands and pulled her leg back into the water.

"Don't you dare propose, Perry. We agreed there would be no proposing this year." She used her foot to pull the chain of the plug, then stood and held out her arms to him.

He wrapped her in a big white bath towel, pressing her against his bare chest. She let him hold her, swaying slightly, his transgression silently forgiven. "You can't blame me for trying to sneak in a proposal considering recent developments."

"Recent developments included, if you did propose, the answer would still be no."

Perry held her tightly. This argument never went his way. Why had he made that promise? Because he would rather capitulate and accept their relationship on her terms than risk losing her.

It was Della's turn to sigh heavily. "Aren't you happy?"

"I'm deliriously happy. I will gladly stay _**un**_married to you for the rest of my life, Della Street."

She laughed against his chest, her silken voice touching off an aching desire. "Now that's a proposal I can accept!"

He bent toward her, lips stopping mere inches from her full, eager mouth. "I'm a stubborn man, Della. I won't give up. There's always next year." He closed the distance between their mouths and kissed her until she couldn't remember what they had been arguing about, and quite possibly her name.

"You are quite unconcerned about the fact that Lieutenant Tragg could walk in any minute, aren't you?" She asked breathlessly as his talented lips traveled from her mouth, across her jaw, down her neck and settled in the hollow of her collarbone. Tragg had left a note that he would check in with Hamilton Burger then return to the house with an updated report before returning to Los Angeles.

"Damn Tragg," he growled.

She tilted her head back to give him better access to the tender skin of her throat. "Should we go back to Los Angeles with Tragg?"

"Hells bells, Della, you certainly can kill a mood." Perry set her on the edge of tub, snatched the bath towel from the floor and wrapped it around her. "We aren't going back to Los Angeles."

"Forgive me, but I'm concerned that you're being blackmailed," she commented with a sarcastic edge to her voice.

"Thank you, darling, for worrying about me, but I can handle Wade Baynum if and when the time comes."

"Well, shouldn't you get back and file an injunction to stop the interview from being published?"

"Frank Heartwell is handling that. The threat of a lawsuit and a five minute conversation with Wade will be enough to put a stop to everything."

She smiled faintly as she used one corner of the bath sheet to fluff damp hair lying flat against her forehead. The feeling that Perry wasn't telling her everything wouldn't go away. "What about Mrs. Belter? She's always done what she wants to do when she wants to do it. Why won't you tell me what it is she and Wade are holding over you?"

He still had thought of no answer that would satisfy her, and telling her the truth at this moment was out of the question. "That is something we'll discuss later," he said casually.

Della looked at him appraisingly while continuing to towel her hair. "Are you saying it's none of my business?" There was a note of archness in her voice that Perry had learned over the years to avoid at all costs.

He knelt in front of her, placed his hands on her knees, and looked deeply into her unmistakably beautiful eyes. "No. I'm saying it's something we'll discuss later," he repeated softly.

She ceased the movement of the towel against her curls and regarded him searchingly for a long moment. "You bet we will," she said finally.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As he piloted the wooden skiff back toward the house on the point, Tragg felt like an intruder, regretting that he had agreed to track down Mason and bring him back to deal with Wade Baynum's threats. Baynum would not have a chance at finding Mason unless he knew the exact location of the remote house. Once Tragg had seen where Mason was, he should have simply called in a report to Hamilton Burger and high-tailed it back to Los Angeles, but to his discredit had been too curious about Mason's private life to simply walk away. Knowing that Mason was most likely not alone, and insanely curious as to whom his companion might be, he had commandeered a skiff and taken himself out to the isolated house. That action had led to this moment, with him returning to the private vacation home of the biggest thorn in his side and the most beautiful, fascinating woman he'd ever met, to ostensibly give an updated report on the Wade Baynum situation. Not his finest moment, but made palatable by telling himself he was doing it to protect Della, the innocent party in the whole regrettable scenario.

Tragg saw them cuddled together on the glider ten minutes later when he rounded the bend into the channel. Mason's head was lowered, his forehead touching Della's, and Tragg could imagine that they had either just kissed or were about to kiss. Neither imagining made him happy. He was struck by how fragile Della looked next to Mason's powerful frame, enveloped by his long arms. Tragg decided she was worth the blow his professional integrity was taking and steered the skiff once more toward the dock.

Neither Mason nor Della greeted him at the dock. Tragg tied off the skiff and climbed the stairs to the expansive deck to find them both still entwined on the glider, each with a highball glass in their hands. Only when he'd topped the stairs did Della acknowledge him.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant. I take it you have an update for us?" Her voice was light and friendly.

Tragg dropped down into a chair opposite the glider and lit a cigarette. He offered the pack as an afterthought, but neither Della nor Mason accepted. "There have been a few developments. Mrs. Belter has been located. She won't talk to anyone but you," he nodded at Mason, "Wade Baynum is still a.w.o.l, By the way, no envelope arrived in the mail today."

Della molded herself closer to Mason and took a sip of her cocktail. She was wearing a white sundress of brushed cotton embellished with iridescent beads at the hem and bodice. Her dark hair was swept back from her face in gentle waves, and opal drop earrings dangled from her exposed ears. Her legs and feet were bare, smooth and tanned. The knowledge of what the sundress covered raged in his mind, his body perilously close to revealing dangerous thoughts.

"Of course she won't talk to anyone but Perry." Her voice held a bitter edge that caught Tragg's attention.

"She'll just have to wait until I'm good and ready to talk to her," Mason said firmly. He was wearing a light brown linen suit impeccably tailored to his imposing frame, dark hair slightly damp from the shower.

Tragg thought it odd both were so dressed up for being alone in the middle of the woods. "I didn't realize cocktail hour out here was such a formal affair."

Mason gently extricated his hand from Della's and stood up. "Pardon my manners, Tragg. Would you like a drink? We have scotch or scotch."

"I'll have scotch, thank you." He watched while Mason moved a few steps to the drink cart, which was outfitted with glasses, an ice bucket, and a bottle of an especially fine aged scotch.

"Dinner is a celebration," Della said, suddenly answering his comment about their attire.

Tragg settled back against the chair cushion with the highball Mason handed him. "Ah, that explains the fancy duds. What is the celebration?" He regretted the question instantly. Did he really want to know?

Mason reclaimed his seat next to Della on the glider after refreshing his drink and looked at Tragg warily. "It's a private celebration," he said.

Della's hand reached out and squeezed Mason's trousered leg just above the knee. "What he means, Lieutenant, is that the _**reason**_ for the celebration is private, but that you are more than welcome to stay for dinner."

Tragg ruefully indicated his rumpled suit. "I'm afraid I'm not presentable enough to attend a celebration."

Della pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Perry's clothes won't fit you, but I think you are about Harvey's size. Why don't you see what you can find in the bedroom at the top of the stairs." She uncurled her long legs and stood in an effortlessly fluid motion. "Follow me. I have to find my shoes."

Tragg allowed her to lead him into the house without comment, aware that Perry Mason's eyes followed them with undisguised annoyance.

* * *

><p>In the surprisingly large but cozy room at the top of the stairs Tragg discovered an assortment of expensive, exquisitely tailored clothing hanging in a massive wardrobe that smelled of cedar. Whoever Harvey Sayers was, he liked nice clothes and had the money to fill the wardrobe to capacity. He settled on lightweight black trousers and a loose fitting pale grey short sleeved shirt, since his shoes were black and Harvey's feet were two sizes smaller than his. A door with a glass knob led to a pristine blue and white bathroom outfitted with a nice assortment of men's toiletries. He proceeded to clean off the sweat and dirt of the day, neatly folding the fluffy white towel and draping it over the edge of the claw foot cast iron bathtub after drying himself. He availed himself of an especially fine cologne, combed his damp hair with a sinfully expensive tonic, and brushed his teeth with his index finger. He ran his hand over the stubble along his jaw and wished Harvey Sayers had an electric shaver, but all he could find was an old-fashioned straight edge razor. Mason probably had an electric shaver, but he'd be damned if he'd ask to use it.<p>

When he was presentable, he descended the stairs and found both Mason and Della in the kitchen, conversing companionably while Mason grated fresh Parmesan cheese over two fragrant, bubbling casseroles and Della tossed a salad. Della had found her shoes, delicate white open-toed satin mules adorned with iridescent beading to match her dress. Lord, had he ever seen a more beautiful, desirable woman in his life? That she was unobtainable didn't stop him from drinking in details of her appearance to replay in his mind from this day forward. If you asked him if the woman he had been dating for several months wore polish on her toenails he wouldn't be able to answer. But he found Della's perfect pink pedicure almost irresistible. What would the guys at the precinct say if they knew he was so enamored of a woman's polished toenails?

* * *

><p>"How many years have you two been coming here?" Tragg hoped the question was sufficiently nonchalant and conversational. The sun had set long ago, the dinner dishes had been washed and put away, and conversation was waning.<p>

"Every year since two years after Della began working for me," Mason answered enigmatically. Della had once again curled herself next to Mason on the glider and he pulled her closer within the circle of him arms, a gentle smile playing at his lips.

Tragg was silent as he reached into his memory for any fact of how long Della had worked for Perry Mason. Seven years? Eight? He was certain it had come up in at least one case, but three glasses of scotch and a bottle of wine had declared war on clear thinking at least an hour ago.

Della abruptly pulled away from Mason and stood up. "I'm going inside," she announced. "It's a bit chilly and I've had enough to drink." She took a step toward the house, but Mason reached out and took her hand.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he said so softly Tragg could barely make out the words. "Save my place." Della nodded and walked away toward the house.

At the French doors, which had been left partially open, she stopped and threw back a low-lidded glance at Mason, then disappeared into the interior of the house, turning off lights as she made her way toward the stairs.

Mason cleared his throat. "Maybe I was a bit hasty in refusing to go back to Los Angeles. She has to be protected."

Tragg stubbed out his cigarette against the deck railing and studied the butt intently so he didn't have to meet Mason's eyes, not quite sure what to say in response. Save his place. Where was his place? The right side or the left side? His thoughts tortured him.

"I'd give up everything for her."

Tragg finally raised his eyes from the cigarette butt to see Mason leaning forward, arms on his knees, rubbing one hand with the other. He had never seen the normally composed and imposing attorney look so vulnerable.

Mason heaved himself up from the glider and stood for a moment staring into the darkened house. An oblong of light upstairs at the rear of the house signaled that Della had entered the bedroom and turned on the light. The oblong disappeared as the door closed. "I worry about her safety, my specialty being what it is," he said ruefully. "I've tried to protect her, but there have been times I couldn't… and she suffered. Now, this – this idiotic thing I did fresh out of law school could hurt her more than…" he let his words trail off with a shake of his head.

"Does she know the whole story?" Tragg leaned back in his chair, pulled a cigarette from the crumpled pack and slid it between his lips. He had just ignited his lighter when Mason motioned with his hand for the pack. Tragg passed it and the lighter to the attorney. He realized it was the first time since arriving he had seen Mason with a cigarette.

Mason smoked in silence for a moment before taking the cigarette from between his lips and grinding it out in a crude pottery bowl centered on the cocktail table. He continued to stare into the darkened house morosely.

"Not quite everything," he admitted. "I can't find the words to tell her."

Tragg snorted. "Somewhere in that vast vocabulary of yours, Counselor, there must be a couple you could have strung together that would have gotten the point across."

Mason whipped his head around to pin Tragg with cold blue eyes. "Could you easily tell the woman you loved something like that?" He challenged. "Earlier today I took exception to you inferring that our relationship is an incidental office affair. The truth is, Della and I are intimate, seriously and permanently. Hell, she's beneficiary of my entire net worth! I've kept hidden what went on with Maryann because I was young and stupid and she doesn't deserve to be hurt by my stupidity. She knows Wade has given an interview to Eva Belter and _Spicy Bits_, which is another story altogether. But no, she doesn't know the real reason Wade is blackmailing me."

Tragg had sat passively through Mason's tirade, digesting his admission about an intimate relationship with Della. Of course he had suspected it – everyone who knew the two of them suspected. He wasn't quite sure what to do with the finality of the knowledge, confirmed by Mason himself. So he did the only thing he could do. He baited Mason. "Are you ever going to tell her the real reason Wade is threatening you? Or are you going to let her read about it in _Spicy Bits_?"

The lawyer's broad shoulders slumped and Tragg almost regretted his questions. Almost. Della deserved to know what kind of a man Perry Mason was.

"She would never read _Spicy Bits_, but I will tell her. In my own way, in my own time."

"What if she finds out before you can tell her?"

"If you tell her I'll wring your damn neck."

Tragg held up his hands, palms out. "I'm not saying I'll tell her. What if she reads it, or hears it on the radio? What if a friend or relative reads it and tells her? You and Della are popular with both the gossip rags and society pages, and with good reason. It'll be front page news."

"I should have closed down _Spicy Bits_ when I had the chance," Mason spat out bitterly. "I underestimated Eva Belter."

Tragg rubbed a hand over his chin. "Woman scorned, eh?"

"Only in her imagination."

"So you think she's the mastermind behind everything?"

"I think she very possibly sicked a reporter on me who stumbled upon Wade. He vowed to never talk about what happened in order to protect Maryann. There must have been an awful lot of zeroes on the check Eva Belter gave him." Wade's betrayal suddenly hit him with gut-wrenching remorse. It was a shame how Maryann's desperate shenanigans had destroyed a very fine friendship, and how money could motivate him to make public a situation that would open such old wounds.

"I'm sure there was. I get the impression from the way both you and Della talk about Mrs. Belter that she doesn't exactly play nicely."

"She's manipulative, delusional, and phony and doesn't care about anyone but herself. She uses people for her own benefit without compunction. Della took an immediate dislike to her, but I didn't listen. Circumstances evolved in such a manner that I couldn't dump her as my client, and my defense of her caused a lot of tension between me and Della."

"Is it Wade Baynum's threats we should we be afraid of or Eva Belter?" Tragg asked with a rueful laugh. "I can't wait to meet her."

"She'll knock your socks off. You'll hang on her every word and won't realize you've been had until it's too late."

Tragg laughed again. "Now I _**really**_ can't wait to meet her."

"Eva Belter is no laughing matter. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"She must be something if she got the better of Perry Mason. I look forward to the challenge."

Mason bowed slightly. "Well, Tragg, it was a most enjoyable evening up until the last few minutes. I need to check on Della."

Mason stepped around the cocktail table and swung back the French door so he could enter the house. He suddenly stopped and turned back to Tragg. "You may as well stay here tonight and head back to the marina in the morning."

Tragg felt the last thread of his integrity snap. "I think I will take you up on that. It's been a long day."

Mason nodded absently. "Take the blue room at the top of the stairs. Good night."

Tragg lit yet another cigarette as Perry Mason slowly climbed the stairs in complete darkness to the second story of the house and disappeared behind the door of the room Della had entered not fifteen minutes earlier. He let out his breath, unaware that he had been holding it, hoping beyond hope that the attorney would have opened any door but the one behind which Della awaited.

* * *

><p>It was warm in the dimly lit bedroom, despite the lazily spinning ceiling fan above the four-poster bed. Della was curled on her left side, the sheet kicked down and rumpled at her feet. She wore a short yellow baby doll nightie that showed her long, tanned legs to advantage.<p>

Perry quickly divested himself of his suit coat, trousers, dress shirt and t-shirt, then stood at the foot of the huge bed in only boxers, taking in the wondrous sight of her. She looked small, young, and innocent lying in the middle of the king size mattress. He smiled. She would scoff at that, insisting that she was none of those things. But compared to him, she was decidedly all three. The years separating their ages and her innocence in the mess with Maryann and Wade Baynum had been weighing heavily on him since Tragg had told him about Wade's interview with _Spicy Bits_ and his subsequent threats. She had been only a teenager during the situation with Maryann and Wade. He had been relatively young himself, but old enough to know better, a college graduate with two years of service to his country under his belt, a first year associate at a well-respected legal firm. He realized that back then he would have been too old for Della, and it was nearly too much for his heart to handle.

"Why are you frowning so ferociously?"

That voice, soft and low and so throatily hers, interrupted the undesirable tack his thoughts had taken. Startled a bit, he relaxed his face and climbed onto the bed, crawling up next to and behind her, wrapping her in his arms and nuzzling her neck. "I was thinking how fortunate I am that the most beautiful woman in the world loves an old grouch like me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Mr. Mason. I can't resist those big, blue eyes." She twisted in his arms to lie on her right side facing him. "You've been unusually obsessed with age lately." She kissed the underside of his chin sweetly, ran her nails back and forth across his chest.

Oh, what she did to him with the slightest touch. His breathing became suddenly ragged. "I've had too much time to dwell on it the past few days."

Her laughter bubbled up from beneath his chin as her hand inched lower, purposefully charting a course for his nether regions. Her probing fingers found the waistband of his boxers and dipped beneath boldly.

Perry grabbed her hand, withdrew it gently and rolled her onto her back. He entwined one leg with hers so that she had no doubt of his intentions. "No, baby. Tonight it's all about you. Let me love you."

Excruciatingly slowly he showed her how much she meant to him with his mouth and hands, no part of her left unexplored. She was quivering, writhing in ecstasy, borderline inarticulate, when he finally heeded her begging and brought them together. Tears rolled down her face as he maintained the torturously gentle pace that was again building a release of shattering dimensions.

Perry nestled into the soft mattress, as Della draped her body over his. He stroked her back in long, feathery light patterns that made her shiver. "Comfortable?" She nodded, still unable to speak. "Good. Now close your eyes like a good girl and go to sleep."

She finally found her voice. "My God, where has _**that**_ been hiding all these years?"

He yawned prodigiously. "I have a lot more tricks in my bag. You should stick around. I'll get to them all eventually."

She laughed quietly. "Oh, I intend to stick around."

Perry continued to stroke her back as she lay atop him. He knew she had no doubts about his love for her, but after learning the truth about Maryann Baynum she might question her love for him. He hoped the memory of tonight would cushion the blow.

* * *

><p>Perry had the distinct feeling someone was watching him.<p>

He opened one eye and discovered the source of the feeling.

Della was sprawled across his body, her chin resting on her hands, which were in turn resting on his chest. She was studying him intently.

"Gosh Della, that stare woke me out of a dead sleep," he complained, not quite seriously. He wasn't surprised she was awake. She often awoke in the middle of the night.

She squirmed slightly, sliding her leg up along his to cover him more completely. "I was thinking about earlier and how happy you made me. Is what you have to tell me so very bad?"

Perry's heart clutched. He would never presume to underestimate Della, but her powers of perception at this particular moment slayed him.

She pounced accusingly on the fact that he didn't answer her immediately. "Perry, we promised not to keep secrets from each other." Disappointment was obvious in her voice.

Perry closed his one open eye and took a deep breath. He was not ready for this. Not here. Not now. This was their special place, their special time together.

"I do have more to tell you. And I will, when the time is right."

"Why can't you just tell me now?" Perry had never known Della to whine, but she was perilously close.

Perry pulled himself into a sitting position, his back against the headboard. After settling Della snugly at his side, he kissed the top of her head. "Because, kid, it's very complicated and I'm not quite sure yet of what I'm going to say."

"You're scaring me, Perry."

He hugged her tightly to him. "Don't be scared. I told you most of the facts this afternoon, but there are a few details that need to be filled in."

"Is it about Wade Baynum?"

"It involves Wade, yes."

"It's about Maryann," she said with conviction.

"Della, please," he protested. "Can't you give that mind of yours a rest and go to sleep? Now is simply not a good time to have this conversation. And don't obsess about it, either, you hear me?"

She looked up at him, her hazel eyes filled with concern. Her head bobbed almost imperceptibly. "All right. I won't obsess about it."

Perry sighed. "That's my girl. Go to sleep."

But Della had other ideas. She climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, sliding her body along his suggestively. "I don't think I can go back to sleep," she purred in his ear.

Perry groaned and rested his hands at her hips, holding her just where he wanted her. She was so slim his hands could span her waist. "I suppose," he managed to say in between her enthusiastic kisses, "I can come up something that will amuse you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Della was already up and had made a pot of coffee when Tragg staggered from the blue bedroom and down the stairs, still groggy from too much alcohol and too many cigarettes the night before. He saw her through the glass doors of the front terrace, seated on a wicker love seat, her legs drawn up beneath her, a speckled stoneware mug in her hand. She was gazing in the direction of two yodeling loons on the lake. It was the mysterious sound of the loons that had awakened Tragg. He made his way quietly through the kitchen to the front terrace dressed in borrowed silk pajama bottoms and a robe that would have cost him his monthly rent.

Tragg's stomach tightened as she turned to greet him. Without makeup, and shiny curls tossed softly around bronzed cheeks, she was perhaps even lovelier in the early morning sunlight than she had been bathed in moonlight the previous evening. But then, he had never seen Della look anything but lovely, no matter the light source.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Perry told me he invited you to stay." Much to her chagrin, Perry had not imparted that bit of news until after she had been vocally uninhibited not more than an hour ago. "Hope you like strong coffee."

Tragg walked over to the table and poured himself a cup before seating himself in a cushioned wicker chair. Della wore a thin silk robe and he suspected nothing else. He found that gulping hot coffee, while decidedly uncomfortable, was a terrific diversion to the thought of what delights that robe covered.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Della continuing her surveillance of the loons as they dove and resurfaced repeatedly. Tragg drank his coffee and tried not to stare at her staring at the loons. Abruptly she shifted again in the love seat to face him, the robe falling away from her spectular legs. She didn't seem to notice. Tragg did.

"Lieutenant, is Wade Baynum dangerous?"

Tragg studied her face for any hint of what she might already know. Did Mason tell her anything last night after their talk? He wanted to be honest with Della, but the thought of Mason strangling him with his bare hands kept him silent, carefully forming a non-committal answer. "He has no record of violence."

"What exactly is it he has on Perry?"

Tragg leaned forward and placed his hand over hers, relieved that she had made this reply so simple. "You will have to ask Perry about that."

She looked at him steadily for several seconds then sat back against the cushion, obviously disappointed with his answer, but did not press further. "Today is a special day," she announced abruptly.

He blinked at the new conversational direction. She seemed to have a habit of making out-of-context announcements. "Is it now? More special than last night?"

"It's Waffle Day. Perry claims he's made vast improvements to the basic recipe a client gave him." She leaned forward and whispered, "Don't let on that you like them. It will drive him mad."

Pleased to be sharing little waffle conspiracy with her, Tragg winked. "You got it."

"What skullduggery are you two planning?" Mason's voice boomed as he walked up behind Della and bent down to kiss her upturned mouth gently. "You look ravishing, my love."

"More like ravished," she shot back wickedly. Tragg nearly spit out his coffee. "But look at you! Showered, shaved _**and**_ dressed, all before nine."

Mason grinned at her over his shoulder as he poured himself a mug of coffee. "Well, it is a special day, after all."

"Waffle Day?" Tragg inquired innocently.

Mason shot an amused glance at Della, who was maintaining an expression of wide-eyed innocence, then faced Tragg. "You know about Waffle Day?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

Mason started to say something, thought better of it, glanced again at Della. "Word does indeed appear to be spreading."

Tragg stood, stretched, and yawned noisily. "Well, I would volunteer to assist with preparations, but I fear I'm again woefully under dressed for the occasion. If you'll excuse me, I'll go make myself presentable."

"Take your time, Lieutenant," Della said. "I'll get in Perry's way until you come back so you won't miss out on anything."

Mason reached for her hand and pulled her up into his arms. "You will not get in my way. You will sit very nicely on the counter and stir the batter."

She made a face and pushed herself away from Mason. "On second thought, Lieutenant, please hurry back. He's punishing me for the dressed before nine comment."

* * *

><p>Perry lifted Della easily onto the counter and indulged in a quick kiss. "So our anniversary has morphed into Waffle Day?"<p>

"I mentioned it was a special day today but didn't want him to know the real reason why it's special. You may be comfortable talking about our personal relationship with him, but I'm not."

"What about that "ravished" comment, hmm? Della, it's not that I'm comfortable talking about our private life with Tragg, it's that under the circumstances it was prudent to let him in on it."

"Speaking of those who are in on it, when am I going to know what it is you and Tragg are keeping from me?"

Perry had been rummaging in cabinets and drawers for everything he would need to make the waffles, but stopped to turn and look at her. "Della, you promised not to obsess about it."

"It's not an obsession," she protested indignantly. "It's my healthy curiosity you admire so much. Tragg obviously has read Wade Baynum's interview. Why can't I?"

"You can read it. _**After**_ you and I have a discussion."

"And when will that be?"

Perry sighed. "I'd like not to argue today, Della. Would you please stick to your promise and drop the subject?"

Della was quiet for a few moments as she watched him move efficiently around the kitchen. "Can we go fishing?"

"Fishing? That's not very romantic."

"But you like to fish and you haven't been out once since we arrived. It would be relaxing, and might take my mind off of whatever it is you're keeping from me."

"Will you be getting digs into me like that all day?"

"Only so long as you continue to keep secrets from me."

"Della, don't be pouty about this. I'm going to ask you one more time to leave it to me to choose when the time is right for a discussion."

"Aye, aye sir!"

"Why are you being such a brat?"

"Why are you being such an autocrat?"

He had been standing with his back to her, forking bacon into a frying pan. He removed the iron skillet from the burner and turned to regard her with suddenly weary, slightly sad eyes. "Do you really think that?"

Feeling a bit chastened, Della lowered her eyes and studied her bare toes. The she raised them and met his eyes defiantly. "In this particular situation, yes, I do."

Perry took a few slow steps until he was standing inches in front of her. "Darling Della, love of my life, being in the same room with you right now could lead to something unpleasant." He grasped her around the waist, swung her from the counter, and planted her feet firmly on the floor. "Go get dressed."

"Don't dismiss me like a child."

"Then stop acting like a child."

"This is maddening."

"I agree wholeheartedly."

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Why won't you let it go?"

Della stood with her hands on her hips, a deep frown furrowing her brow. "All I'm asking is that you be honest with me, Perry."

"And I will be, but I'm asking that you give me time to tell it in my own way. Can you extend me that courtesy?" He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. "We'll talk, baby, I promise. Let's stop this nonsense and concentrate on more pleasurable activities."

She smiled faintly, surrendering for the time being. "All right, you win. Kiss me."

He happily obliged. "Nobody wins nonsensical arguments like this, kiddo."

"I know." Her arms circled his waist as she leaned into him, chin upturned against his chest.

"Can we not let this interfere with plans for the day?"

Della gave that elaborately frowning concentration. "Depends on if plans include fishing," she said finally, breaking into a smile.

Perry bent to nibble her neck as his hands moved to the belt of the robe, slowly untied it, and pushed the robe from her shoulders to reveal her gloriously nude body. "Actually," he said between heated kisses along her exquisite collar bone, "plans as usual include you like this as much as possible."

Her arms circled his neck and she arched her back as his mouth descended to her perfect breasts.

A cough behind Della was a rude reminder that they weren't alone. Perry quickly pulled the silky robe back up over her shoulders as she began to shake with silent laughter.

"Never a cop when you need one . . ." Perry grumbled under his breath.

* * *

><p>Tragg chose not to acknowledge Mason's intimate embrace with Della. He had heard their raised voices, knew by the tone that they had been arguing. He could imagine what the argument had been about, knowing Della's tenacious nature and Mason's stubbornness. On some level he wished he wasn't privy to what was causing strife between them, but on another level the knowledge could enable him to bring Mason down a peg, and that thought perversely pleased him.<p>

Della excused herself and strolled past him up the stairs after flashing both men a brilliant smile. Whatever embarrassment she might have experienced at being caught with her robe off and Mason's mouth wandering over her bare skin was beautifully disguised.

After her departure Mason returned to the task of frying bacon.

"Sorry about that, Counselor," Tragg said, hoping he sounded sincere.

Mason's contentious snort indicated otherwise. "You aren't in the least bit sorry, Lieutenant. You actually wish you'd arrived one minute later than you did."

Tragg grinned. "I'll never admit it."

"Or you could have arrived one minute earlier and caught us arguing about what information I'm withholding from her about Wade Baynum's interview."

Tragg had moved to the counter opposite Mason and begun cracking eggs into a glass mixing bowl. He tossed shells into the sink and wiped his hands on a dish towel. "I won't pretend to be an expert on romantic relationships, but for God's sake, you need to tell her. It's in the first damn paragraph of the interview."

"I read it," Mason replied irritably. "I'd rather not tell her today of all days."

"Are you going to tell me what occasion you're celebrating, or must I use my imagination?"

"I'm afraid you will need to use your imagination. Della would rather we not discuss it with you."

"Wedding anniversary?"

"You know Della hasn't accepted my proposals."

"Exactly how many times have you proposed?"

Mason concentrated on turning the sizzling bacon in the skillet, keeping his back to Tragg, ignoring his query. "In case you hadn't noticed, Della's an exceptionally independent, self-possessed woman. She doesn't feel that marriage is the only path to happiness."

"That's all fine and good, but what about you?"

Mason was silent for a moment, which answered Tragg's question more than words could. "I want Della to be happy. I ask her to marry me and she declines. Some day she'll surprise me and say yes and I'll marry her so fast it'll make your head swim."

"Think she'll still say yes some day after you tell her the truth about Maryann Baynum?"

Mason turned off the gas underneath the iron skillet and slowly pivoted to face Tragg, his expression unreadable. "I'm congenitally a difficult person, never so much as when I'm consumed by a case," he began.

"I'm here to testify to that," Tragg interposed dryly.

Mason's expression didn't register the comment. "I've given her cause any number of times to walk out on me both professionally and personally, but she stays. Her confidence in me, in _**us**_, is humbling. I have to rely on that to pull us through what transpired between Maryann Baynum and me."

"I would say the fact you haven't told her after all these years, and especially not in the last two days, shows that you aren't quite as confident as you'd like me to believe."

Perry Mason had no reply.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Following an uncomfortably quiet breakfast during which Della's sharp eyes moved constantly between the two taciturn men, she excused herself to take a walk. After the dishes had been taken care of and the kitchen straightened up, Tragg announced that he would be returning to the marina to check in with Hamilton Burger and get an update on the situation with Wade Baynum. If there were any important details, he would return with a report. If not, he would head back to Los Angeles.

Della was more or less waiting for him on the dock. She had changed earlier into shorts and a sleeveless cotton blouse and was dangling bare legs into the water, making aimless circles with her feet.

"Heading out?" She asked. Then without looking up she invited him to take a seat by patting the sun-bleached boards of the dock with her hand. Tragg sat down with his back against a piling, legs hunched up in front of him.

"What will your boss say about us being down here alone together?"

"I'm sure he suspected I'd be waiting for you. And Lieutenant, please stop referring to him as my boss."

"If he's not your boss, what is he?" Tell me, he silently begged. I've heard it from _**your boss**_, but I need to hear it from you.

A surprised expression crossed Della's face which she attempted to conceal by rapidly blinking her eyes. "What has Perry told you about us?"

Tragg played for time by fishing for a package of cigarettes, offering it to Della, then lighting his when she declined. "More than what he's told you about Maryann Baynum."

"He's told me about Maryann Baynum."

"He's only told you what he wants you to know. I'll bet you a year's salary that I know more than you do, and I'm not his lover."

Della's visibly stiffened and gave him a frosty look. "I'm not –"

"His lover?" Tragg interrupted, not wanting to hear the word from her, even in denial. "Come now, Miss Street, let's not play at semantics. You two haven't exactly been discreet in front of me. Mason told me himself that you and he are intimate. Something you don't seem to be able to admit, even though you can't keep your hands off of each other."

"I was going to say," she said icily, "that I won't dignify your comment with a response."

"Ah, my dear Miss Street, any dignity I had was left in Los Angeles when I willingly tracked you out here. I figure I've just about hit bottom, so nothing I say or do will make much difference now."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

Tragg stared past her, out over the channel and into the woods beyond. "I'm saying that I came here out of inordinate curiosity about you and your boss."

"I still don't understand."

Tragg laughed, a disgusted snorting sound. "Don't play dumb with me, Della, it's unbecoming. I'm a Homicide cop. Why would I be working on a matter of blackmail? I came out here for one reason and one reason only: to confirm if the rumors about you and Mason were true. Those false travel itineraries should have been enough to convince me, but I still had a sliver of foolish hope remaining when I got in my car to drive up here."

"Lieutenant, please don't – "

Tragg snorted again, interrupting her. "I've always admired you, Della, and over the years I've wondered about you and Mason. I had to see for myself if all the gossip was true, had to know for sure if you were really involved with that pain in the ass boss of yours. But knowing and seeing you together only makes me regret not getting into my little boat and leaving the minute I found your bracelet under the chair."

"Oh."

"Is that all you have to say?" He asked irritably. "I've embarrassed myself, shredded my dignity, and threatened any semblance of friendship maintained between me and your boss. Not to mention that you must see me as wholly unsuitable to my job, probably as a man as well."

Della impulsively reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "You aren't wholly unsuitable, Lieutenant. You're just…"

"Not _**him**_?" Tragg jerked his head toward the house.

"Not him," she agreed softly, lightly squeezing his arm. "Lieutenant, Perry and I have been together several years – well before you were assigned to Homicide. Our relationship isn't conventional or publically acceptable, and we try very hard to be publically discreet. We come here to be ourselves, to get away from a society that doesn't understand our choices."

"Why not just marry the guy and stop all the sneaking around? I told you once you could do worse," Gallantry springing more from politeness than from sincerity, as Tragg dragged up a memory of Mason contemplating buying a house but being unable to convince Della to accept his proposal.

To Tragg's surprise, Della laughed and squeezed his arm again. "Oh Lieutenant, neither one of us is ready to be married. I can hardly hold his undivided attention for a ten-day vacation in this house before he gets restless for the next case, the next adventure. Marriage wouldn't enhance what we have. Marriage would ruin it."

"He's an idiot if he can't concentrate on you for ten days. And I must inform you he tells a different story."

"Perry only thinks he wants to get married. Being an attorney is his passion, what he was born to do. He doesn't need a wife to take care of, distracting him from clients. He needs someone who's not afraid to take chances with him, someone he can trust, someone who has faith in him and won't try to change him."

"Sounds to me like you've made a lot of sacrifices while he reaps all the rewards."

"I haven't sacrificed a damn thing. I'm very happy."

Tragg ground out his cigarette on a plank of the dock, considered throwing the butt into the water, thought better of it and instead slipped it into the pocket of his suit coat. He knew she singlehandedly ran Mason's practice and fearlessly followed his instructions that had every possibility of landing her in jail – hell,_** had**_ landed her in jail. He had arrested her himself a time or two, using her as a vehicle to force Mason's hand, ruthlessly capitalizing on the lawyer's one apparent vulnerability.

"I have complete faith in Perry," Della went on while Tragg remained lost in his thoughts. "I don't need to be married to be secure. And neither does Perry."

"Are you positive about that?" Damn Mason for not being completely honest with her, for hiding Maryann Baynum from her all these years.

"I'm positive. Would you live as he does for a woman?"

"Considering I scrape by on a civil servant's salary, I couldn't show off and buy luxury vacation houses like your big shot boss. So, no, I wouldn't live like this. What's the matter?"

She was looking at him with wide-eyed shock. "What did you say?"

"I said I couldn't – hey, don't you know?"

"What should I know?" Her voice was barely audible.

"Hell, the deed to this house is filed under your name – D.K. Street. That's how we figured out where you two were."

Della swung her feet out of the water and using Tragg as leverage, scrambled to her feet. She then bent, threw her arms around Tragg's neck, and kissed his cheek. "I guess you really do know more than I do."

Tragg was so stunned by her embrace that he couldn't take advantage of it and wrap his arms around her. She pulled away, flashed him the brilliant smile he had seen often in his dreams, and turned to run up the stairs to the house, toward Perry Mason.

Well, that was a wasted opportunity.

* * *

><p>"Perry!" Della hollered. She reached behind her and closed the French door with a bang. "Perry!"<p>

"Upstairs!"

Della took the stairs two at a time, flew down the hallway, and flung open the door to the bedroom. Perry arose from the writing desk where he had been seated, a law journal open in front of him, and caught Della as she jumped at him, wrapped her legs around his middle, flung her arms around his neck, and pulled his head down to kiss him passionately.

"Well, well, well," he said as her mouth wandered from his mouth to his cheek then down his jaw to his neck, "to what do I owe this display of affection?"

"Tragg," she said, kissing him beneath his ear, her tongue tracing the outer shell delicately, eliciting a small growl from him.

Perry moved his hands down to cup her bottom and hold her more closely. "I must remember to thank the Lieutenant." His legs were threatening to collapse as her tongue and teeth continued their deliciously torturous assault on his ear. "I saw you talking to him."

"Were you spying?"

"Certainly not. I figured he had something to get off his chest."

"He did tell me something."

"I have a feeling I won't like it." He turned his head and caught her roving mouth with his, kissing her hungrily, possessively. "This was hardly the reaction I expected."

She pulled back to look at him. "Just what did you expect him to tell me?"

His eyes narrowed. "Just what exactly did he tell you?"

"Would you please for once answer my question first without asking your own question?"

He kissed her quickly then set her bottom down on the enormous bed. He stood in front of her, her legs still wrapped around his waist, and reached for the top button of her blouse. "I believe he professed his deep and abiding affection for you," he said nonchalantly.

"Something along those lines," she agreed airily. "We can discuss that later. But he also told me a secret." She leaned back on her elbows, allowing him better access to the buttons. Perry pushed the blouse aside to reveal her lacey white bra. His breathing became shallow as her legs dropped from around his waist to be brought up onto the bed on either side of him.

"What kind of a secret?"

"Probably the only kind I would forgive being kept from me." She raised her hips slightly as Perry slowly slid shorts and lace panties down her legs.

"Are you going to let me in on this secret?" He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the bed, cradled between her legs.

Della pushed herself up slightly, resumed nibbling at his ear. "Someone bought a house for me," she whispered.

Perry was glad she could not see the expression of utter relief that surely crossed his face. "No," he corrected, "someone bought you _**half**_ a house. You and Harvey are each half owners."

"Half of this house is still impressive. Someone must like me."

Perry Mason slid his hands behind her and grasped her shoulders, drawing her to him while she deftly undid his belt and pushed his trousers down. "You have no idea," he practically gasped into the side of her neck as her talented hands left very little doubt as to her appreciation.

* * *

><p>"When did you put my name on the deed to the house?"<p>

Perry stroked her back as she lay in her customary position sprawled across his chest. She had told him once it was the best way to listen to his heart. He had answered he appreciated that she kept him warm by sprawling over him like a contended cat.

"Just about a year after you began working with me."

"But we hadn't…" she was having difficulty processing the timing. "How could you take such a risk before we ever…"

"Because," he interrupted her, "I knew you were the woman I would love for the rest of my life and I wanted to share this place with you. And besides, Harvey needed help with his third divorce. I told you the house was in a name his ex-wives wouldn't think of."

"I hope Harvey appreciates what you did for him. Is there anything else you need to share with me?"

"Well, I did purchase another life insurance policy a few weeks ago. You, my darling, will be a very wealthy woman."

Della lifted her head and stared at him. "You are the most exasperating man."

He gently tapped her nose with his finger. "I also told you I would take care of you. Always."

"What about your brother?"

"It's none of his business what I do with my money. He knows I wouldn't have amounted to much without you." He grinned. "Need I remind you how my life was pretty much in shambles when you walked through the office door for your interview?"

"You just needed discipline."

"I needed _**you**_."

Della laid her head back down on Perry's broad chest, listened to the strong and reassuring beating of his heart, the heart he had given to her. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what she had done to deserve this man.

"Do you want to talk now about what else the good Lieutenant told you?"

"Not especially, except that he very much regrets coming out here to find you. No, strike that, he regrets staying here once his curiosity was satisfied."

"Curiosity?"

"Uh huh. He wanted to know who you were with more than where you were."

"I see."

"He told me how you spilled your guts about us."

"What ladylike phraseology, darling. I did not spill my guts. This is the only place we can truly be together without constantly looking over our shoulders for photographers or reporters. I didn't want to give that up just because he showed up on the doorstep. So excuse me all to Hell, but I selfishly and without regard to your fragile sensibilities let him in on the truth. Would you rather I'd bowed to propriety and bunked in the blue room with him, leaving you all alone in our bed?"

She remained unusually silent and still following his outburst. He brushed his large hand over her hair. "Della, I didn't mean to snap at you. Maybe I should have talked with you before letting Tragg see how it is between us, but hang it, I had to make a decision on the spot when he found your bracelet."

"It really does bother you, doesn't it?"

"What bothers me, baby?"

She lifted herself from his body, rolling onto her side away from him. "It bothers you that we aren't married. You tell me you're happy, when you actually resent me because I won't legitimize our relationship."

Perry propped himself up on one elbow and reached out his other hand to pet her, his big hands gentle as down on her warm skin. "Della, there is nothing, absolutely nothing, illegitimate about our relationship, and I certainly don't resent you. It kills me to leave you in the middle of the night when all I want to do is hold you, and I'd love to kiss you in public whenever the mood strikes, but baby, being with you is more important to me than conforming to what society tells us we should do."

She reached back and grasped his hand, held it still on her hip. "Tragg kept referring to you as my boss. I told him to stop. Then he asked if you aren't my boss, what are you, and I couldn't answer. What are you, Perry? You're the one pining for conventionality. Tell me what you are, what we are."

"Why do we have to _**be**_ anything, baby?"

"Because you want normalcy, and normalcy begins with labels. When you talk with people, how do you refer to me?"

"I refer to you by your name. I like your name, therefore I say it as much as possible."

"So when you meet someone and strike up a conversation, you just throw my name out there without explaining anything about me?"

"Della, why are we having this conversation?"

"Because," she began tremulously, pulling his arm around her middle and twining both of hers around it, "Tragg made me think that maybe I don't want to be introduced as your secretary for the rest of my life."

He pressed himself against her back, rested his cheek on silky curls. He might possibly owe Tragg a huge debt of gratitude. "I have the perfect solution for that," he said gently.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't."

"Now _**you're**_ scaring _**me**_, Della."

Della sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Tragg unnerved me a bit, that's all, showing up like he did and now he knows about us, and is asking difficult questions…and I'm being silly. Pay no attention to me."

"That would be impossible. Paying attention to you is my favorite pastime."

"Man's favorite sport?" she inquired with a quiet laugh.

"This man's favorite sport," he replied.

* * *

><p>It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon before Perry was able to drag Della from the four poster bed and down to the beach to take advantage of the gorgeous summer day. If he had left plans for the day up to her, they would not have budged from the bed. Granted, his plans weren't much more grand, but at least they involved varied locales.<p>

Because Perry insisted their anniversary should be the day he met her and hired her as his secretary and she maintained it should be the next day, her first day of work, they celebrated both days. "His" anniversary generally involved dressing up, Italian food, and dancing. Perry requested that Della always wear white, the color she had worn the first night they spent together as lovers, and for weeks prior to their anniversary she spent as much time as possible searching for the perfect dress, one that would light up Perry's eyes as he admired her and make him crazy all night devising a plan to remove it. "Her" anniversary involved the Deadly Sins of Lust and Gluttony, very little clothing, waffles and steaks, and as much physical contact as was humanly possible.

She wanted no exchange of gifts, and he agreed, but still she would discover velvet boxes elaborately adorned with ribbons and crystal beads hidden among her lacy what-not's, tucked into a shoe, or merely placed atop her pillow despite his promises. His mother's advice about women had been to be kind, gentle, respectful, and to shower them with jewelry. Della had to admit his taste was impeccable and rather grand, and he was like a little kid anticipating her reaction. So in honor of his mother, whom she would dearly love to have met, Della didn't protest too strongly about finding a diamond bracelet in her underwear drawer.

This anniversary was different. Last night there had been no dancing as they shared their dinner with Lieutenant Tragg, and she had yet to stumble across his gift, assuming that he had honored his mother yet again and smuggled a gift into the house. She had never figured out exactly how he did it, because she packed and unpacked his suitcases herself, but had a sneaking suspicion that Paul Drake or Harvey Sayers was involved somehow, and that her gifts were already in the house when they arrived.

Aside from their anniversary routine being slightly altered by their unexpected guest, the threat from Wade Baynum and Eva Belter to expose what Perry had kept hidden for so long cast a shadow of moodiness over him. For her part, Della was a bit jumpy, barely able to contain her need to know what he was so obviously struggling with telling her, while she mulled over a jumble of recently conflicted thoughts. They didn't speak much, allowing their eyes and hands to communicate, their lovemaking heightened by the need to express depths of emotion that each knew instinctively would be necessary to hold them together in the next few days.

* * *

><p>Something was stabbing him. He swatted at the spot on his ribs that had received the poke and groaned. He felt the stabbing again.<p>

"Perry! Honey, wake up."

The urgency in her voice penetrated the sluggish comfort of sleep and he sat bolt upright. "What's the matter?"

Della was on her knees beside him, her finger poking at his ribs insistently. "I've got it!"

Perry looked at her beautiful, earnest face in the semi-darkness. "You…you've got what?"

"How we can make our relationship socially acceptable and satisfy your desire for a little conventionality."

"Are you serious, Della? You scared me half to death, waking me up like that. Why aren't you asleep?"

"I was asleep until the thought came to me," she lied. "It's so beautifully simple we should have come up with it a long time ago."

It was difficult not to fall under the spell of her excitement. He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair and smiled. His desire for Della the past two days had left him somewhat sleep deprived, and the fog didn't want to dissipate quickly. "Okay, what is this beautifully simple something we should have thought of a long time ago?"

She smiled at him triumphantly. "I might be able to accept being your fiancée," she announced.

"Fiancée?"

"Fiancée. That would be socially acceptable."

"Would it now. A fifty year engagement?"

She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Perry, I haven't said I'd _**never**_ marry you. Someday marriage might be the right thing for us."

"That's certainly encouraging."

"This is a perfectly respectable idea. Why aren't you more excited?"

"I'm still half asleep, Della. Are you going to continue waking me up in the middle of the night like this? Because if you are, I'll have to add an afternoon nap to my daily routine."

"Given your underwhelming response, I might not be around much longer to wake you up in the middle of the night, so don't worry about fitting that nap in."

"Della. Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly. I don't want to be married, you don't want to be engaged…"

"Don't put words in my mouth, young lady. Let's talk about it after we've had more than a couple hours of sleep, okay? I'd like to be totally awake and coherent when you propose engagement to me."

"Now you're making fun of me. I thought you would be pleased about this."

"I swear to God, Della, you are wearing me out with these mercurial conversations. Nothing I say satisfies you."

She looked intently at him, arms crossed over her chest. Perry met her stare. Several silent moments passed.

"I love you," he said finally.

She smiled broadly.

Perry sighed and reached up to cup her face in his hands. "May I suggest that you lie down and go to sleep without ringing in another round of this prizefight?"

She slowly lowered herself to the mattress on her side facing him, tucked her hands under her head. "This isn't a fight."

"Argument, then."

"It's a discussion."

"Go to sleep, Della." He made a valiant attempt to keep his eyes closed, knowing that she continued to stare at him, not ready by a long shot to let go of the conversation.

She worked one foot between his legs at the ankles. "Debate." She kissed his shoulder. "Discourse, dialogue, chat, confabulation, repartee…"

With a mighty growl, Perry rolled her onto her back and covered her mouth with his. She was squirming for air and laughing when he finally raised his head to look down in the warm darkness with undisguised desire.

"I think I'm going to need a nap tomorrow," he said in a low, gravelly voice.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Perry Mason had stretched his long frame out next to Della in the hammock with a glass of iced tea, trying not to take the nap he sorely needed after the many activities of the previous day – none of which had included fishing – that had lasted late into the night and early morning. In the distance he heard the putt-putt of a small horsepower outboard motor. Déjà vu. As he struggled to sit, the small skiff rounded the point and swung into the channel.

"What is that?" Della asked, putting down the magazine she had been engrossed in and placing her hand on his back.

"It's our favorite Homicide cop."

"I thought he went back to Los Angeles yesterday."

"So did I. You stay here, I'll meet him on the dock and –"

"I will not stay here. Get me out of this thing. I'm going with you."

Tragg watched as the small welcoming party of Mason and Della descended the stairs to meet him. Dressed in a gauzy white skirt embroidered with multicolored flowers at the hem, a matching peasant blouse embroidered at the yoke and belted at the waist, Della was ethereal and delicate as she literally floated across the planks of the dock. It's all for her sake, it's all for her sake, it's all for her sake, he told himself repeatedly.

With an expertise that surprised even himself, Tragg steered the small skiff alongside the dock and killed the motor. Mason grabbed the line Tragg tossed to him and tied it securely to a piling.

"We thought you had gone back to Los Angeles, Lieutenant. You have news?"

Tragg used the piling to pull himself from the skiff to the dock next to Mason and Della. "I'm afraid I do. Wade Baynum has disappeared."

Mason looked blank. "What do you mean he's disappeared? How could he disappear if he hadn't been located yet?"

"He'd been keeping in touch with his sister by telephone. She called police this morning because she hasn't heard from him in two days."

He hadn't meant to blurt it out like that, but seeing Della so lovely and innocent in her white outfit, he suddenly needed to make this visit as short and simple as possible. Long-suppressed uncomfortable feelings had surfaced in the past two days and he wasn't sure he had the strength to witness them together for much longer without humiliating himself further, for her sake or not.

Della's faced had paled. "Do you think he could locate Perry here?"

"I doubt he could. But we still have to take his threats seriously."

Della's paled even more. "What threats?" She looked up curiously at Mason, who was grim-faced and silent beside her.

Tragg speared Mason with a hard gaze. "_**Tell her**_."

Della looked from one man to the other as they appeared to compete in a childish stare-down. She backed away slowly from them, abruptly whirled and ran lightly back over the walkway and up the stairs to the deck, where she called out without turning around, "I'll be waiting inside for you."

Tragg watched her depart over Mason's shoulder. "I'm going back to Los Angeles," he announced. "You can do whatever the hell you want, but I'd advise you to come clean to her and hope to God she forgives you."

* * *

><p>Perry found Della curled on the sofa, smoking a cigarette and staring out the glass doors that led to the terrace at the front of the house. She didn't look at him as he dropped onto the cushion next to her.<p>

"Della, I …" he began, and stopped. He still had no words. After all the thinking he'd been doing for the past two days, he had not settled on the best way to tell her.

"You'd better gather your thoughts, Perry, and finally tell me this great secret." Her voice was low and steady. Although he knew she was angry and disappointed with him, she remained calm. She was always calm. For some reason, it suddenly irked him.

"Wade Baynum is blackmailing me."

Della's eyes were huge as she shifted her position to face him. "You told me that. Why is he blackmailing you? I thought he had been a good friend – your college roommate."

"He _**was**_ a good friend until things went sour with Maryann."

"Good grief, people date, they break up. It happens all the time."

"It was a little more complicated than that." Perry inched closer to Della and took hold of her left hand. She put out her cigarette in the crystal ash tray on the coffee table and waited expectantly for him to continue. He looked into her eyes, those warm, beautiful eyes that had always held such love for him in their depths. Eyes that even now were clear with that love and the trust he treasured. His shame over what he was about to tell her was indescribable.

"For ninety-three days Maryann Baynum was my wife."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Perry Mason had very few regrets in his life. However, he wasn't quite sure what it said about him as a man that those regrets involved relationships with women. Their names were tucked away in the recesses of his memory, stored away for reference on how _**not**_ to conduct himself. Ellen. Maryann. Laura. Maryann Baynum was his biggest regret, a mistake borne of youthful lust and an adult reality for which he had been woefully unprepared.

Perry had spoken about the "important" relationships in his life with Della, as well as about the casual relationships that had led him to her. He wanted her to know how loved she was, how she completed his life. But he had not told her the entire shameful story of Maryann Baynum. Maryann had tapped into his innate sense of decency at its most basic element and twisted until she got what she wanted. When the truth was revealed, he had dealt with the situation swiftly, coldly, and selfishly, bulldozing Maryann and Wade into accepting his terms and methods for covering up the deceit. Then he had resigned effectively immediately from Lambert Keating Associates, moved to Los Angeles, and begun carving out a reputation as a brilliant, albeit judiciously reckless, criminal defense attorney. What Maryann had done to him and what he had done to her was buried in Sacramento. Or so he'd thought.

Admitting to Della that he had been married, if only for ninety-three days and then expeditiously annulled, was the most difficult thing he'd ever done. That is until he had to tell her why he had married Maryann Baynum in the first place.

* * *

><p>"How old would the baby be?" Della stared steadily at her hands, which were resting palms up in her lap.<p>

"The 'baby' would be seventeen." After the announcement of his marriage to Maryann Baynum, he had risen from the couch and begun to pace a path from the fireplace to the dining table and back.

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl. Her name is Persephone. Mercifully, they call her by her middle name, Kay."

Della absorbed that bit of information for a moment. She was grateful to be sitting down – the room was wildly spinning around her. "Does she have blue eyes?"

Mason stopped pacing to stare at her. She met his gaze steadily. Her calm, matter-of-fact questioning was in character, but it irritated him. "I don't know. I've never seen her. Everything I know about her I read in Wade's _Spicy Bits_ interview."

"You don't believe she's yours?"

"I'm damned positive she isn't mine. She was born too soon."

"Babies do arrive early, you know."

"She weighed over nine pounds and was twenty inches long. She was not premature."

"You're a big man, Perry. Your brother is rather large as well, as are your nephews. It's not inconceivable that a baby of yours could be of better than average size."

He again stared at her, an odd expression on his face. "Are you playing Devil's Advocate or deliberately trying to make me angry? Her birth date is a full three months prior to when she could possibly be my child. It's obvious she's not mine."

"Not so obvious to Wade Baynum."

"It was until Eva Belter entered the picture," he said bitterly. He began patting his pockets, searching for something.

Della picked up the crystal cigarette box on the table and offered it to him. After he had lit up, she leaned back against the overstuffed sofa cushions and calmly observed him as he inhaled deeply.

"Would you please yell or hit me or call me a son-of-a-bitch? This calm acceptance is disconcerting." He threw over his shoulder as he paced past her yet again.

"Please do not presume to tell me how to react to this."

Perry collapsed in the club chair opposite Della's seat on the couch, put his head in his hands and stared fixedly at his feet. "Geez, Della, I just gave you a doozy of a reason to run screaming out that door and never come back, yet there you sit, calm and collected."

Della arose from the couch with a dancer's grace and came to stand in front of him. She dropped to her knees, extricated the cigarette from his fingers, and snuffed it out in the crystal ashtray on the table.

"Look at me," she said softly. He lifted his head and looked into eyes that shone brightly with tears. With a sharp intake of breath Perry pulled her to him and held her head against his shoulder.

"Don't cry," he begged quietly. "I can handle anything but crying." He hugged her to him tighter and rocked her gently. He could feel her tears soaking the front of his shirt, and the ache deep in his heart that had formed the instant he'd learned of Wade Baynum's interview expanded until he could barely breathe.

Her arms slid around his waist as she leaned her entire weight into him. "You should have told me everything before now." There was no recrimination in her voice, just that same calm acceptance, but he still felt rebuked.

"Yes, I should have. I was so ashamed that I couldn't tell you.

She lifted her head and looked up at him. "I don't love you any less because of what happened, Perry. But the fact that you didn't tell me…if Wade Baynum hadn't given this interview, would you ever have told me the entire truth about Maryann?"

Perry leaned back slightly and cradled her face in his hands. "More than anything I want to say yes, but I don't honestly know."

She was silent and still as she looked deeply into his eyes, saw the rawness of his love for her. She pushed herself away from him and rose to an unsteady standing position. Her hand reached out to rest on his shoulder. "I think we should drive to Sacramento tomorrow."

The fact that she had not reacted to his admission concerned him and he barely heard her. "What? Oh. Yes, maybe we should."

"I'll pack now. We can have dinner in a little while, go to bed, and get on the road early in the morning."

There was a detachment enveloping her that made him uneasy. "Della, are you okay?"

Her eyes were dark and sad as she looked down at him for several long seconds. "I don't honestly know," she said finally, very softly.

* * *

><p>Dinner was simple and quiet. Perry tossed a big salad and added cut up left over steak from "her" anniversary dinner. Sliced French bread and the last bottle of Chianti, which he drank mostly himself, completed the meal.<p>

Della ate sparingly and barely touched her wine. Perry tried to engage her in conversation a few times, but she didn't seem to hear him, so he fell silent as well. He had never seen her like this before. She was too calm, too quiet. He knew she was still processing everything he had told her, wrestling with the blow to her trust in him, but that she wasn't talking was a bad sign indeed of her state of mind. Della was not one to silently mull things over. She was usually full of questions, prone to verbalizing her thoughts, traits that had assisted in solving more cases than he could count. He would give anything if she would just start talking again.

Suddenly she pushed away her half uneaten salad and the full wine glass. Her eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "Tell me why Hamilton Burger dispatched Tragg to track you down. It wasn't simply to bury the fact you'd married Maryann Baynum under false pretenses."

Thankful she was speaking again, and had accepted his contention that Maryann's baby was not his child, he too pushed aside his plate. "I'm afraid neither considers me worthy of such protection," he replied slowly. "Their concern was directed toward you."

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "Me?"

"We surmise Eva Belter paid Wade a lot of money for his story, but either he or she thought that shaking me down could be more profitable than actually publishing the interview. The first letter demanding $250,000 arrived at the office the day we headed up here."

"It sounds like something Mrs. Belter would cook up." Della said, making no effort to mask the contempt in her voice. "Only she would go ahead and publish even if you paid."

Perry smiled faintly. Mrs. Belter was without a doubt Della's least favorite client, with good reason. She had been treated unkindly by Mrs. Belter, had been forced by her position and inbred good grace to endure overt hostility from the older woman, who had disdained Della for her "plain" background. Perry had been a bit harsh with Della and arguably too loyal to Mrs. Belter, who had been an undeniably rotten client. His relationship with Della had been in a tenuous stage, teetering between their comfortable camaraderie of employer/employee and the mutually exhilarating but frightening prospect of something more intimate. There had been late night dinners and dancing, long, intelligent, stimulating conversations, and a few breathtaking kisses. It was one of those kisses, the first they had ever shared in the office that had been such an affront to Mrs. Belter. He sighed wearily.

Della raised her eyebrows again. "What?"

Unaware that he'd sighed aloud, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed. "You haven't learned a damn thing, have you?"

He laughed, which elicited a small smile from Della. "I guess I haven't," he admitted, still grinning. "I was thinking back to when Eva Belter came into the office while we were kissing. I think she took great exception to my affection for you."

"Of course she took exception to it. She had decided the moment she met you to make you her next conquest."

The grin disappeared from his face as he reached across the table to stroke her fingers gently. He loved to touch her hands. "It's not right that by loving you I put you in the middle of all this drama."

She loved it when he touched her hands. Early in their relationship it was just about the only affectionate gesture they could indulge in without creating a spectacle worthy of a photo in the gossip columns the next day. "Are you finally going to tell me exactly what all the drama is?"

He continued to stroke her fingers, one at a time, with just his index finger. "Apparently the way I treated Mrs. Belter at the conclusion of her trial has been festering all these years. She must have been looking for something on me for a long time. It's too much of a coincidence for Wade to have gone to her of his own accord, especially after he swore he would keep quiet to protect Maryann." He finally looked up and met her eyes. "His first letter simply asked for $250,000 or the interview would be published. A second letter demanded $250,000 and an admission that the baby was mine. A third letter demanded that I consent to put my name on the birth certificate so the "illegitimate" could be removed."

Della turned her hand palm up and stilled his methodical caress. "Being branded illegitimate must be a horrible thing to grow up with."

He stared at their entwined hands, transfixed by how small and delicate her hand was compared to his. "The annulment was official two days before the baby was born. I made threats and said awful things to Maryann until she broke down and signed the annulment papers. Then I cleaned out my worldly possessions and left town. I haven't been back since, and I haven't had any contact with either Wade or Maryann." He looked up into her eyes again, saw that they were touched with understanding. He had never seen anything on earth more beautiful than the woman seated across from him. He cleared his throat. "There is a fourth letter," he said. "It demands immediate acceptance of terms in the previous letters or great misfortune will befall a certain Miss Della Street."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Early in her employment with Perry Mason, Della Street had been more than a bit fearful that his devil-may-care attitude and craving for excitement could place him in too much danger for even his quick-witted instincts to overcome. It had taken several months, Perry's defense of Eva Belter, and his obvious distress over her doubt about his methods to change her mind. He had entrusted her almost immediately with the operation of his practice, had treated her with respect and genuine affection, yet he'd had to beg for her trust in return when she disagreed with his defense tactics. He had protected her from potential hurt, held her close in a gruffly tender kiss. She surrendered her fear for him at that moment, and then stood by stunned at the rather grand gesture he made in front of Mrs. Belter.

That day, realizing how much her opinion of him mattered, how much _**she**_ mattered to him, Della determined to trust in his unorthodox approach to the law with only the slightest hint of doubt. If he needed to chase uncooperative witnesses half-way across the state, arrive on the scene two steps ahead of the police, and manipulate potentially damning evidence, she would be by his side, calm, matter-of-fact, and supportive.

She also determined there would be a lot more kissing.

She was aware he agonized about her safety when she was carrying out whatever borderline nefarious caper his brilliant mind concocted, but she also knew he admired her intelligence and spirit of adventure, and was confident in his ability to extricate her from whatever hot water she might wind up in with the police or the District Attorney. And as much as she still might cajole him to pull back on his extreme dedication to clients, it was more of a habit held over from her first months on the job than an actual desire on her part. She wouldn't, couldn't want him to be any different than he was.

Besides, the kissing was rather spectacular.

After Perry's announcement of the contents of Wade Baynum's fourth letter, Della stood and skirted the table to slide into his lap. She pressed his head to her heart as his arms circled her waist in a fierce embrace. "My darling Perry," she whispered. "Always trying to protect me."

He squeezed her even more tightly. "You can't imagine how I feel knowing that what I did to Maryann and Eva Belter, real and imagined, could harm you. I'm sorry you've had to deal with so much of my personal baggage over the years."

"We both have things in our past we aren't especially proud of," she said softly.

"God, Della," he practically moaned. "I didn't want you to be hurt or learn the truth about Maryann this way."

She held his head away from her enough to lower her lips to his in a deeply urgent kiss. "Do you love me?" She leaned her forehead against his, her arms draped over his shoulders.

"I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."

"Have you ever cheated on me?"

"Della! Of course not."

"Do you think about other women?"

"Never. I have no reason to." Perry pulled back to look into the face he knew better than his own, nearly bursting into tears to see that she was smiling

"I trust you with my heart and my life, Perry Mason. Remember that."

He looked deeply into her shining eyes, the eyes that held his past, his present, his future. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

She slid from his lap. "I've asked myself that very same question almost every day for the past six years."

He stood and tugged her to him gently. She stiffened ever so slightly, then relaxed against him. She had never done that before.

* * *

><p>The oppressive heat of the day had blessedly moved on, blown away by the steady breeze coming off the lake. When even a light quilt and Perry's body heat couldn't calm Della's shivering, he suggested they abandon the deck for the comfort of the couch and a small fire, but Della declared she would rather go straight to bed since they were getting up quite early in order to load the boat with their belongings. The wash-out of the access road complicated their departure, since Perry's car was parked at the marina, and the time required to transfer baggage from the boat to the car, to make arrangements to moor the small cabin cruiser in a slip, and to notify the caretaker of the change in plans, would delay hitting the road at least another twenty minutes.<p>

Perry followed Della into the house once it was decided to abandon the deck and watched her with tender eyes as she made her way slowly to the stairs at the opposite end of the great room, reaching out to touch several pieces of furniture and knick-knacks on the way. He knew she didn't want to leave, that their time spent at the house was important to her, but she had made up her mind what had to be done and would be stoic about it. Small things like running her finger over the tops of the ladder-backed dining chairs gave away her melancholy to him, and broke his heart.

* * *

><p>"Did you love her?"<p>

Distractedly subdued since awakening at sunrise, she had relied primarily on subtle looks and hand gestures to communicate with him. They had gone to bed relatively early, and for the first time since arriving at the house for their vacation, actually _**went to bed. **_She had curled against him familiarly when he reached for her, sighing deeply, but he sensed she would not be welcoming of any intimate advances on his part, no matter how sincere or gentle they might be. They awoke in virtually the same position, but after a thorough wake-up kiss, she had slipped lithely from the circle of his arms, stretched languidly in the way that always made him want her desperately, and flashed him a wistful smile without saying a word.

He thought carefully for a moment before answering. "No, I didn't love her. I barely knew her. She showed me a lot of flattering attention after I moved in, and a week later, after too much to drink, we spent the night together. In the next few days I tried to stay away from her, but I'm afraid her proximity and willingness combined with copious amounts of alcohol sometimes overrode my sensibilities. When she announced she was pregnant, I reacted out of pure guilt and did what my mother taught me was the right thing to do."

"That was very noble and upstanding of you." She was wearing the gauzy white peasant skirt and blouse again, cinched at the waist with a multi-colored woven leather belt to match the embroidering. He had bought the outfit for her in Mexico after they had impulsively headed for the border after the verdict in a grueling trial, without so much as a toothbrush between them. He had selected matching multi-colored woven leather wedge-heeled sandals as well, which were lying discarded on the floorboard since she had pulled her legs up beneath the skirt and wrapped her arms around them. Her back had been to him the entire trip so far. She didn't turn to look at him now.

"Not really. I was mad as hell at her, at myself, at the world. I wasn't ready to be a husband and father, especially not that way. I didn't even know her middle name. When the judge used it in the ceremony I was surprised."

"What's my middle name?"

"Katherine."

"Just checking."

He laughed, encouraged by her swipe at humor.

"Maryann must have been desperate to do what she did."

"I'm sure she was, but that doesn't excuse it. Aside from being drunk and young and angry, I don't have an excuse for my behavior either. The wide old world of reality became damn ugly the day the doctor told me her estimated due date."

"Has she ever admitted who the father really is?"

"Not that I'm aware of. When I confronted her, she continued to insist I was the father and that the doctor was mistaken. I don't know how she thought she'd get away with it, since she was almost six months pregnant when we got married, and we'd only known each other for about two months."

"Didn't how much she showed give everything away?"

Perry shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel. He wished she would slide over and snuggle against him. He missed her closeness. "Maryann is not a small woman. She's at least six feet tall. And she gained no visible weight until after we married. She was obsessive about what she ate, and had terrible bouts of what she said was morning sickness. Too late I realized she was deliberately making herself sick to bolster her story."

"How awful!" Della finally turned her head to glance at him, then long, graceful arms and legs unfurled as she reversed her position, back propped against the door, legs pulled up in front of her, toes curled under.

"I'm sure that if anyone could have willed their body to carry a baby for twelve months, it would have been Maryann. She was determined to prove I was the father."

"Will you be able to face her after all these years?" She was beginning to feel remorse for insisting that they go directly to Maryann to stop the nonsense.

"I can be civil to her. She might not be civil to me. I treated her rather harshly."

"Have you ever regretted that Maryann's child wasn't yours?"

"Never. If she had been mine, I would still be in Sacramento, working for Bert Keating on contracts and mergers. I wouldn't have moved to Los Angeles and gotten a taste for criminal law."

"There are some who would rather you'd stayed in Sacramento." She commented dryly.

"If I had stayed in Sacramento, not only would I not be the great and powerful Perry Mason," he paused with a grin when she snickered, "fervently feared and fearless defender of the innocent and upholder of justice, I wouldn't have met you," he pointed out.

"If you had stayed with her you could have had your own children." Her voice was suddenly so quiet he could barely hear her.

He reached out his right hand and touched one curled up foot. "Della." His deep voice held a gently chastisement.

She lifted her eyes momentarily then looked down again. "I'm not going to talk about that," she said in the same quiet voice.

"The regrets I have about the situation are about how badly I treated Maryann and Wade, and that I've somehow made you feel insecure."

"I'm not insecure," she denied. "I've just had to rearrange my perspective on a few things in the past few hours."

He glanced at her again. She was leaning forward now, chin resting on her knees, eyes downcast. "I am so sorry, baby," he said softly.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing to rearrange perspective now and then," she replied slowly. "You're damn lucky I decided to include you in the new arrangement."

His hand, which was still resting on her curled toes, tightened its hold.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The old Victorian had fallen into serious disrepair since the day Perry Mason had moved out with all his worldly possessions in two suitcases and a beat-up wooden box. The white paint was now grey with age, flaking and peeling everywhere but on the front porch where the sun did not directly shine on it. Evergreen bushes flanking the steps that had once been neatly trimmed to the height of the porch railing now narrowed egress up the rotting wooden stairs to the stately front door and brushed the roof of the porch.

Perry held Della's elbow firmly in his hand as he assisted her up the mushy steps, and turned her sideways to pass through the overgrown evergreens.

"What a shame," Della whispered. "The house must have been lovely at one time." It was dank and cool on the porch, the floorboards nearly as rotted as the steps. Two ratty wicker chairs lay haphazardly discarded in a corner, partially covered by a moldy canvas tarp. Several window panes were cracked, and an attempt had been made to seal them with a sticky brown substance.

Perry nodded. "It was. Wade was very handy and kept the place in topnotch shape." The degree of disrepair was astounding. What had been happening since he'd left? Why would Wade allow the house to literally disintegrate around him?

Della's foot landed on something squishy and slimy and she let out a small yelp at the fetid odor that was released. Refusing to look down, she shook her foot and scraped the unseen gunk from the bottom of her sandal on a warped floor plank. "Please tell me that isn't what I think it is," she hissed.

Despite his own disgust at the condition of the house, Perry smiled. Blood and dead bodies she could handle, but the smell of dog poop could bring her to her knees. His hand tightened on her elbow as she tottered a bit. "Rub your shoe over the door mat," he instructed, nodding his head downward.

Della finally looked down. "Is that what that is?" She asked skeptically taking in the square of carpet so black with age and dirt as to be almost unrecognizable. "Whatever is growing on the mat may be worse than what I stepped in."

Perry stifled a laugh as he reached for the doorbell and pressed the raised black button. "I think it's the same one that was here seventeen years ago." Della furiously rubbed her shoe over the mat several times before the door suddenly swung back.

A short, stocky man with abundant silver hair stood in the doorway. Dressed in an immaculate grey business suit and silk bowtie, his dapper appearance only exacerbated the deplorable condition of the porch. Dark grey eyes stared suspiciously out at them from under bushy silver eyebrows.

"Bert," Perry blurted in surprise.

The older man's grey eyes looked blank, then reflected the surprise in Perry's voice. "Perry. What in God's green earth are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question," Perry replied, surprise replaced with sudden wariness. He had prepared himself for Maryann to open the door, maybe her daughter or a housekeeper, but never in his wildest imaginings would he have thought Lambert Keating would be standing in front of him.

"Maryann is having a difficult time right now, as you can imagine. I came by to see if there was anything I could do." Lambert Keating was not a tall man, but was broad of shoulder and filled the doorway with his presence. He made no move to invite them in. "Maryann didn't mention you would be stopping by. I was under the impression you haven't been in contact with either Maryann or Wade since you moved to Los Angeles."

Della glanced up at Perry's blank expression and rubbed her shoe surreptitiously on the carpet mat one more time. Perry was rarely speechless, but he didn't seem to be able to move the conversation forward with the man in the doorway. Impulsively she held out her hand. "I'm Della Street, Mr. Mason's confidential secretary. We've heard about Miss Baynum's…difficulty, which we believe is connected to a matter Mr. Mason is working on. Might we come in and speak with Miss Baynum? I'm afraid we weren't able to call ahead," she finished apologetically.

Perry heaved an inward sigh. Leave it to Della to bail him out.

Lambert Keating swung his eyes to Della, appreciatively surveying her from head to toe and then back again, finally stopping to meet her frank, friendly gaze. "It's a pleasure, Miss Street. It is _**Miss**_ Street, isn't it? I believe I've seen your picture in the paper in reference to some of Perry's more high profile cases. I must say the camera does not do you justice."

She treated him to a brilliant smile. "Why, thank you. I didn't realize Los Angeles crime news was reported in the Sacramento papers."

"When the news is as sensational as one of Perry Mason's trials, I daresay it's reported nationwide." Lambert Keating bowed deferentially in Perry's direction, but did not move his eyes from Della.

Della laughed. "I would say "notorious" instead of "sensational", Mr…I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name."

Again he bowed. "Keating. Lambert Keating. I was once your notorious Mr. Mason's boss."

Perry recovered his voice at that moment. "I've mentioned Bert to you, Della," he entered the conversation smoothly. "I was an associate in his office for a short time many years ago."

"A very short time," Lambert Keating confirmed flatly. "You left rather abruptly."

"That is something better discussed at another time, Bert. We would like to speak with Maryann, if we could."

Lambert Keating stood stock still in the doorway, steely eyes suspicious again. "I will ask her if she would be agreeable to seeing you," he said at length.

"Of course I'm agreeable to seeing them! Don't be so priggish, Bert." A female voice boomed from the interior of the house, and the largest woman Della had ever seen suddenly appeared behind the dapper lawyer. She stood a head above the older man, and was every bit as broad shouldered. Her size rivaled that of Perry Mason's, but she was most decidedly a woman, with eye-popping voluptuous curves and lustrous long black hair that fell in perfect waves around her shoulders. Her eyes were large, wide-spaced, and brilliantly blue. She was overpoweringly female, and she was very drunk.

She waved a bottle of beer in the air in an expansive gesture of welcome. "C'mon in, the beer is fine."

* * *

><p>Della was accustomed to confidently carrying an attractive figure, but she felt almost pre-pubescent when confronted with Maryann Baynum's punch-you-in-the-face pulchritude. Perry certainly had not prepared her for the reality of Maryann Baynum.<p>

And neither was she prepared for what lay on the other side of the moldy and rotting porch.

Gleaming wooden floors, brilliant oriental rugs, and stunningly beautiful silk-covered couches nearly made Della gasp. Iridescent pale gold silk draperies hung from ornate metal work rods over tall, narrow windows, and everywhere were glass lamps of varying sizes with dangling prisms of every describable shape. The room danced with tiny rainbows as the afternoon sun was refracted through each prism.

"It's beautiful," Della whispered in awe. Perry stood behind her, his hand resting on the small of her back, piloting her from the foyer through the partially closed pocket doors of the front room.

"Come into my parlor," Maryann Baynum invited gleefully. She entered the room and threw herself onto a couch covered in blue and gold silk. The couch creaked under her weight as she heaved her legs up to lay supine, propped up with a multitude of brocaded and fringed pillows, still clutching the brown beer bottle. Her blouse, already stretched to its limit, nearly screamed with the effort of containing her ample bosom.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Perry and Della moved toward the settee opposite where Maryann Baynum was sprawled. Lambert Keating adopted a stance behind Maryann, one hand resting on the slick blue silk upholstery, the other shoved into his trouser pocket. Maryann took several pulls from the beer bottle and studied Perry and Della with alcoholic seriousness.

"My, my, my," she said as they seated themselves, "Perry Mason returns! You are the last person I expected to see."

Perry was surprised at how little Maryann had changed in seventeen years. Her hair was still naturally glossy and black, with no evidence of grey or of processed coloring. Her face was virtually unlined and she wore almost no make-up aside from thickly applied raspberry lipstick. "We're on our way back to Los Angeles from up north. There are a few things we'd like to talk to you about."

"Aren't you going to introduce me to the precious little doll sitting next to you?"

Della blinked rapidly and opened her mouth to answer. Perry beat her to a reply. "Della Street, my confidential secretary."

Maryann sat upright suddenly and with extreme concentration set the beer bottle down on a glass coaster that protected the unmarred surface of the cherry coffee table. "Well, Della Street, his confidential secretary, I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Equally charmed, I'm sure," Della murmured. Perry nudged her knee with his.

"Bert!" Maryann swung her head around to face the silver-haired lawyer. "Get Perry and Della Street, his confidential secretary, a beer."

It was abundantly apparent to Perry that talking with Maryann Baynum in her current condition would do no good. He and Della had discussed calling Maryann beforehand, but ultimately decided that a surprise visit would yield better results. However, that decision had been based on confronting a sober woman, not one who had obviously had more than a couple beers.

"No thank you, Maryann," Perry declined as Bert Keating took two steps toward the doorway and halted. "It's very gracious of you to offer us a drink, but I think maybe we should come back tomorrow. If it's all right with you," he added hastily.

Maryann leaned forward, grasped the beer bottle with both hands and raised it carefully to her lips. "I think that's a _**smashing**_ idea, Perry." She gulped what remained in the bottle and again concentrated all her attention on setting it down on the glass coaster. She sprung her hands from around the bottle and grinned with inebriated pride at her accomplishment. "Pick a time, any time."

Before Perry could suggest a time the doorbell rang. Maryann frowned. "Now who could that be? Ex-lovers are all accounted for…Bert! I need another beer."

Bert Keating had been standing stiffly behind Maryann, two paces away where he had halted earlier. "I'll get the door first Maryann, then I'll bring you more beer."

Maryann shook her head violently, glossy tresses whipping around her face and sticking to her lipstick. She didn't seem to notice. "No! You get the beer and Perry will answer the door. Won't you, Perry?"

Perry silently stood and walked past Bert into the foyer. Bert followed, veering to his right as Perry turned left toward the front door.

Della experienced a moment of panic at being left alone with Maryann, but needn't have. The older woman ignored her, reached up under her skirt and pulled off a half-slip. She made an attempt to fold it, pushed it beneath the pile of pillows on the couch, then wriggled her hips happily, delighted to be free of the obviously offending garment.

"Hate underwear," she explained to Della, as if removing undergarments in front of perfect strangers was perfectly normal behavior.

Della couldn't believe what she'd just seen. She said nothing, simply nodded slightly.

Maryann had been shifting on the couch until she managed a pose that mirrored Della's, legs together and tucked to the side, hands folded in her lap. "So tell me, Della Street, his confidential secretary. Can Perry still make a woman scream all night long?"

Della couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

* * *

><p>Perry realized how uncomfortable Della was in this house, how odd she must think his behavior to be. But when Maryann was drinking, it was best to remain polite, otherwise all hell could break loose. He disliked leaving Della alone with Maryann in the parlor, but Bert obviously knew Maryann well enough to cater to her immediate demands and would have let the doorbell ring continuously as he fetched the much-desired beer.<p>

The doorbell rang for a third time before Perry opened it.

Standing on the rotting porch was Lieutenant Arthur Tragg.

Both men took steps back in surprise. "You!" Tragg recovered his voice first.

Perry shrugged. "We ran out of wine," he deadpanned.

Tragg looked searchingly at Perry Mason. "And I suppose the nearest liquor store was in Sacramento so you decided to pay a visit to Maryann Baynum."

Perry shrugged again. "What's your explanation for showing up on the Baynum's doorstep?"

Tragg's searching look intensified. "You don't know?"

"Know what? I'm afraid Maryann is a bit tipsy. Our conversation hasn't been particularly enlightening up to this point."

"I can imagine. So you really don't know?"

Perry waved his hand impatiently. "Tragg, I've been driving for hours and I'm not really in the mood for guessing games."

"You might cut Miss Baynum some slack for her inebriated state, Perry. Her brother's body was found this morning in Los Angeles."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

By the time Perry Mason returned to the parlor with Lieutenant Tragg, Maryann had once again settled back against the pile of pillows like Cleopatra awaiting her minions, her face a perfect study in innocence. Della sat opposite her in choked silence, highly amused by the older woman's bold attempt at shocking her, fighting mightily not to laugh again. Della realized Maryann Baynum was not nearly as drunk as she wanted the men to think she was, and that she was quite intuitive.

Perry had heard Della's laughter from the foyer, and now observed how her eyes sparkled with undisguised merriment. Something had definitely passed between the two women in his absence, and if Maryann was anything like she was seventeen years ago, he was quite certain she had more than likely said something inappropriate.

If Della was surprised to see Lieutenant Tragg behind Perry, she didn't let on. "Well, hello, Lieutenant," she said breezily.

Maryann sat up suddenly and swung her legs to the floor. "Lieutenant? Are you that nice cop with the funny name? Craggy, Scraggly, Baggy…"

Slightly taken aback by his surroundings and the veritable mountain of pulchritude that was Maryann Baynum, Tragg blinked twice before bowing slightly. "Lieutenant Arthur _**Tragg**_. I assume you are Miss Maryann Baynum."

"You assume correctly, Lieutenant _**Tragg**_. Are you sure that's your name?" She was looking at him intently, her brilliant blue eyes conveying wariness combined with overt interest.

"I can confirm his name," Perry Mason interjected. "However, I'm afraid I can't vouch for him being particularly nice."

"You," Maryann said, "can keep quiet, wise guy. I'll decide for myself whether he's nice or not." She rearranged a few pillows on the sofa and patted the silk cushion. "Sit, Lieutenant."

Perry seated himself on the sofa next to Della and threw an amused glance back at Tragg, who remained glued to the floor, unable to make a move to sit next to Maryann Baynum. "You'd better do as she commands, Tragg."

"You should take Perry's advice," Lambert Keating concurred from behind Tragg. He entered the room and set three frosty bottles of beer on the table. Maryann squealed. The older man quickly realized his infraction and hastily placed coasters beneath each bottle. "No harm, Maryann."

"Lieutenant Arthur Tragg, Lambert Keating," Perry Mason made the perfunctory introduction. "I began my legal career with Bert's firm about a hundred years ago."

"It does seem that long ago, doesn't it?" Bert Keating availed himself of the cleared space on the couch next to Maryann when it became evident Tragg intended to remain standing in the doorway.

"I'm not sure why you're here, though, Bert. I didn't know you were particularly close to Wade and Maryann."

"Maryann took over the firm's bookkeeping when Madge retired," Bert explained. Madge was his wife, ten years older than he and as small as Maryann was large. Perry remembered her as quiet and bird-like, a genuinely nice woman of fragile health. "That's been, what, eleven years now Maryann?"

"Almost twelve" Maryann corrected. "If anyone wants a beer, grab it now." She swiped a bottle, tipped her head back, and took two enormous loud swallows.

"Maryann, Lieutenant Tragg just informed me about Wade," Perry said gently. "I'm very sorry."

Maryann Baynum took another noisy swig of the icy beer and then sat back against the multitude of pillows. "Why thank you, Perry. But if you didn't know about Wade, just what brought you visiting today?"

"Perhaps I can go over that with you in private, Miss Baynum," Tragg interjected from the doorway.

Maryann swung unfocused eyes to him. "I'm not sure I like you," she announced. "You didn't come and sit next to me like I wanted."

"Tragg, you won't be going over anything with Miss Baynum in private," Perry stated firmly. "Despite the fact she's is in no condition to speak to anyone, I won't allow her to be interrogated without an attorney present."

Della glanced from Perry's grim profile to Tragg's passive expression. She had a bad feeling about Wade Baynum.

"If I want to talk to Lieutenant Tragg I will," Maryann Baynum told Perry. "He was considerate enough to drive all the way up from Los Angeles. The least I can do is talk to him."

"I would advise against it, Maryann."

"Just who the hell do you think you are advising me?" She raised heavy black brows in question.

Lambert Keating patted her arm reassuringly. "Maryann, maybe you should listen to Perry. He is, after all, a highly regarded criminal defense attorney. Actually, I would give you the same advice."

"I know all about him," Maryann sniffed. "You can't pick up a newspaper lately without seeing his picture."

"Miss Baynum, you are more than welcome to retain an attorney," Tragg spoke politely, "In the early stages of a murder investigation everyone is treated as a potential suspect, but I assure you that my questions will not be threatening in any way."

Maryann held Perry Mason's eyes. "I knew he was nice," she said.

"As nice as he is," Perry replied smoothly, "I would still advise you not to speak with him without an attorney present. And I would like to see a representative of the local police force present as well."

"Captain Ingles of the Sacramento Homicide Division is running late," Tragg confirmed with the slightest hint of smugness as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands shoved in his pants pockets. "He should be here any moment."

"More company!" Maryann exclaimed. "Are you happy now, Perry? Can I talk with Lieutenant Tragg when Captain Ingles gets here?"

"You can do whatever you want, Maryann," Perry told her stiffly, "but in my opinion you are in no condition to talk to the police."

"I certainly _**can**_ do whatever the hell I want," Maryann Baynum hissed. "You aren't my husband anymore."

An uncomfortable silence descended. Bert Keating coughed very quietly. Tragg removed one hand from his pocket and studied his nails, lips pursed.

Della, who had been sitting forward on the settee, ankles crossed in a most ladylike manner, eased back against the cushion and gracefully crossed her legs. She felt Perry's discomfort across the space that separated them, knew that he was uncharacteristically unsure about facing Maryann Baynum for the first time in seventeen years. She had seen him this way only once before, in the presence of another woman who had abused his emotions.

Perry Mason suddenly leaned forward, a controlled cold rage in his eyes, his posture once again confident and assured. "According to the State of California," he said with precise diction, "I never was your husband."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Perry remembered The Grand Fowler hotel living up to its name seventeen years ago more so than it did now, but although the furniture was now slightly shabby and the rich green wallpaper a bit faded, it was still a very nice hotel, remote, quiet, venerable. As he registered and paid for the last two available rooms, he watched Della out of the corner of his eye. She had lapsed into silence once again in the car after leaving the Baynum house, and was now standing perfectly still in the middle of the lobby, admiring the stunning art deco fireplace mantle, repeated rectilinear shapes softened by a graceful curve, the curve balanced in turn by the plain stone from which it was carved.

He instructed the bellboy to remove their luggage from the car and deposit it in their rooms, as well as to have the valet take care of the car. After receiving a generous tip, the bellboy grinned delightedly, executed a small salute, and scurried away to carry out Perry Mason's instructions.

"I love that fireplace," Della said as Perry walked up behind her. "I've always wanted a fireplace."

He touched her arm lightly. "You have a fireplace. What's mine is yours."

Her eyes were clouded and unreadable. "It's too plain and modern," she complained. "You don't feel the warmth of the fire for the coldness of the design."

He cupped her elbow. "That's way too deep for me to think about right now," he declared, nudging her in the direction of the hotel cocktail lounge.

"Perry, I'm not dressed for cocktails," she protested.

"You look beautiful. We'll sit in the darkest, most remote corner of the lounge so no one will see you with the big, bad lawyer from Los Angeles."

There was only one occupied table in the lounge at this hour of the afternoon, and there was no trouble being seated in a curved booth in back slightly offset from the entrance. Perry ordered vodka and cranberry cocktails with lime as well as a basket of bread, and as the waitress withdrew he lit cigarettes for both he and Della.

"I take it you are once again rearranging perspectives," he commented.

She regarded him thoughtfully through a haze of exhaled smoke. He was her best friend, her lover, her entire life. She loved him more than a woman should love a man, but she didn't especially like him at the moment. "Did you have to be that harsh with Maryann?"

"Yes," he acknowledged firmly. "I probably should have been even more harsh with her. As sharp as she is, in her current condition she's no match for Tragg. I can't believe his temerity in suggesting private questioning while I was sitting right there and with her so obviously inebriated."

Della set her cigarette down in the ashtray as the waitress arrived with their cocktails and a basket of assorted warm rolls. She sipped her tart drink as he stubbed out his cigarette, slathered whipped butter on a sesame roll, and took a bite. "Are you concerned for Maryann or for yourself?" She asked.

"One concern is not mutually exclusive of the other," he replied a mite testily. "I'm concerned that her brother has been found dead and the impact that will have on her life. I'm also concerned about the publicity his death will generate, and the impact that will have on our life."

She took the half-eaten roll from his fingers and popped it into her mouth. He picked up her abandoned cigarette, took one long drag, stubbed it out, and pushed the ashtray aside.

"I wish you had prepared me more for meeting Maryann," she said reproachfully. "When you said she was a big woman, I didn't picture Jayne Mansfield's older, prettier Amazon sister."

His smile was brief and humorless. "I'd forgotten just how overwhelming Maryann can be."

"You sure know how to pick them."

He caught her gaze. "I sure do," he agreed softly. "But I didn't choose Maryann. She chose me. And I was too young and stupid to realize it before it was too late. What?"

Her gaze had shifted upward over his head. "Tragg just walked in. It appears Bert Keating talked Maryann out of allowing him to question her."

"I thought I'd find you in the cocktail lounge," Tragg said by way of greeting. He slid into the booth on the curved seat facing Perry Mason and Della, noting their relative distance from one another. "Trouble in paradise, kids?"

"To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart, of all the cocktail lounges in Sacramento, how did you know to walk into this one?" Perry said impassively, ignoring Tragg's question.

"I'm an extremely talented detective," Tragg answered.

"In other words," Della interjected, "Captain Ingles heard Perry mention The Grand Fowler as we passed him on the walkway."

"Ah, but it was I who thought to ask Captain Ingles if he had heard anything you said."

The attentive waitress arrived to take Tragg's order and inquire if Mason and Della wanted anything else. As Mason ordered two more vodka and cranberry cocktails, which Tragg declared a "sissy" cocktail and promptly ordered a neat whiskey.

"I take it you are not on duty," Mason stated the obvious.

"Got that right," Tragg concurred. "Not after Maryann Baynum dissolved into tears the instant you walked out. Bert Keating tossed us when she couldn't collect herself enough to speak intelligently. We're going back tomorrow morning."

Della fought to hide the dismay she felt, but knew Perry saw it expressed on her face.

"What a coincidence," Perry remarked, "So are we."

"My sharply honed deductive talents sense that you finally brought Miss Street up to speed on all the facts," Tragg said blandly. "Those same talents also tell me that Maryann Baynum won't be as welcoming of your visit tomorrow as she was today."

"She can meet us at the door with a shotgun," Perry proclaimed crossly, "but she's still going to talk with me."

Tragg lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray toward him. "Without a lawyer present?"

"When I talk to Maryann," Perry continued in a quietly controlled tone, "it will be personal, not in a professional capacity."

"You might want to give her a break considering what happened to her brother."

"I'll give her as much of a break as she deserves. What exactly happened to Wade?"

Tragg shook his head. "Uh uh. I'm not divulging one single fact about Wade Baynum. You have no official affiliation to this case and are about number two million on the suspect list, by virtue of your ironclad alibi. "

Della raised her eyebrows. "Which is?"

"Me." Tragg tossed back the neat whiskey in one swallow. "Should have ordered a beer," he said regretfully.

"So all you'll tell us is that Wade was killed some time over the two days you were with us at the lake?" Perry waved down the waitress and ordered Tragg a beer.

"That's all, unless you move up on the suspect list or Maryann Baynum retains your services. And I don't see either one of those things happening anytime soon."

Perry Mason slid to the edge of the booth. "If you'll excuse me, I have to make a phone call."

Tragg motioned for him to slide back into the booth. "Sit back down, Mason. You don't have to disturb Paul Drake's vacation. I'll talk." He took a last pull on his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray. "Wade Baynum was found stuffed into the trunk of his car in a public parking lot next to the professional building where _Spicy Bits_ leases office space. He was strangled, garroted from behind with his own tie. Preliminary autopsy results are that he died between eight p.m. and one a.m. two days ago. I returned to the lake house at just about seven p.m. and didn't leave until almost eleven a.m. the next morning. And since I heard the two of you from time to time throughout the night, I can vouch for your whereabouts conclusively."

Della colored furiously. To hide her mortification, she drained her first cocktail and quickly picked up the second. Good Lord, Perry's alibi for Wade Baynum's murder was their exuberant lovemaking overheard by an officer of the law. She finished her second cocktail in two gulps. Perry pushed his untouched second cocktail toward her.

"You're enjoying yourself immensely right now, aren't you, Tragg?"

"I'm enjoying having the upper hand over you for once," Tragg admitted with bald honesty, "but I regret circumstances could be embarrassing for Della if they ever came to light."

Perry again slid to the edge of the booth and stood.

"Where are you going now?"

"To call Paul Drake," he replied without looking back.

* * *

><p>Tragg summoned every ounce of professional dignity he possessed and dared to face Della. "I'm sorry, Della. I truly am."<p>

She stared at the three empty cocktail glasses lined up in front of her. "We've faced tougher situations," she said, the fire of her initial embarrassment sufficiently doused with alcohol to lessen the high color in her cheeks.

Tragg withered under her statement, ashamed of his earlier bravado in admitting he had lain awake listening to their most private of interactions. "It's that simple for you, isn't it? You love him that much?"

"It isn't simple at all, Lieutenant," she disagreed quietly. "And I do love him that much."

Tragg's shame multiplied, knowing how much of her fiercely guarded privacy she had just surrendered, and he realized too late that whatever he did to Mason, he did to Della as well. She celebrated his triumphs, endured his failures, lived his present, and accepted his past. If he ever found a woman with one-tenth of the love for him he saw in Della's eyes for Mason, he would grab her and hold on for dear life just as the big attorney was holding onto Della. He possessed the power to pummel Mason into submission in this case, to keep him in the background while he investigated and reaped a little personal glory for once, but at what price? Was this case worth permanently rending his dignity for fleeting recognition, when Della's only transgression had been to accept a job offer from Perry Mason?

* * *

><p>Perry dialed a telephone number he had sworn to Paul Drake he would not call and listened while it rang and rang. The curved booth was visible from the bank of public phones, and he watched with interest the very short exchange of words between Tragg and Della. Whatever she said to him stalled the conversation and caused the police officer to bow his head in apparent shame over his glass of beer. That's my girl, Perry thought with a sly smile.<p>

On the eleventh ring, the phone was picked up. "Congratulations, Perry," Paul Drake drawled. "Eight whole days. A new vacation record."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Because you are the only person I gave this number to. I hope for your sake it's a life or death emergency, because I've got a young lady in a serious state of disrobement cooling her heels in the other room."

"What would you say if I told you there has indeed been a death, Eva Belter is involved, and that Tragg has something on me that will hurt Della and potentially damage my reputation, resulting in less business for you?"

Paul Drake sighed deeply. "I'd say tell me where you are."

* * *

><p>"So when can we look forward to seeing Mr. Drake?" Tragg had commandeered the basket of rolls and had eaten his way through two by the time Perry returned to the table. Drinks had been refreshed, and he noted that Della's was already half gone.<p>

"I cut him a break and gave him until tomorrow noon," Mason replied cheekily.

"He must be somewhere close," Tragg guessed.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge his location," Perry responded. "You know where my private hideaway is now, but you won't find out from me where Paul spends his vacations."

"Well, I've enjoyed our time together," Tragg announced, "but I must be going. Someone nabbed the last two available rooms in the hotel just before I arrived so I'm off in search of accommodations for the night."

Perry Mason reached into his pocket and slowly slid a key across the table. "If I didn't have extra rooms at my disposal all the time, Tragg, this would be the second time in two days you would be sleeping in your car. The clerk told me downtown hotels are booked for a convention."

"I can have the room put on my department expense account," Tragg offered.

"The official record will show that Perry paid for two hotel rooms, Lieutenant," Della said sharply.

Tragg's mouth became suddenly dry and he swallowed with effort. "Of course. I lost my mind for a moment." He stood. "It's about time I checked in with Headquarters. Good afternoon."

"Tragg," Perry Mason called after him. "You may as well join us for dinner. Meet us in the lobby at seven. We'll eat early then see what kind of a night life Sacramento has to offer."

Tragg turned. "I'm afraid again I didn't plan ahead and have nothing but the clothes on my back. I'm a bit too rumpled to go out to dinner."

"It just so happens, Lieutenant," Della spoke up, "that I packed the clothes you wore the other night. I was going to have them cleaned and sent back up to the house with Harvey. They're in Perry's garment bag."

Tragg warred with his thoughts for a moment. "Then it seems we are destined to dine together tonight. I'll see you at seven."

Mason turned to Della with a curious expression once Tragg had exited the lounge. "What did you say to him? He's positively meek."

Della shrugged. "He accused me of being simple. I set him straight."

"You set him straight," Perry repeated under his breath, shaking his head. "You do know that I love you very much."

"Of course you do, darling," she replied.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Nearly an hour after Tragg left the cocktail lounge, there was a knock on the door. He padded over in stocking feet to admit Perry Mason with the clothing he had worn to the celebration dinner at the lake house.

Tragg silently invited Mason into the room, which turned out to be the room containing Della's luggage. He had resisted the shameful urge to unzip her garment bag and finger the white sundress he surmised was contained within, but her make-up case posed another, stronger attraction. He had furtively unlatched the lid and inhaled the light, feminine perfume so identifiable with her. The mere presence of the make-up case could explain her scent in the room, right?

Mason hung Harvey Sayers's clothing in the closet and went about silently gathering Della's luggage, batting away Tragg's attempts at assistance. Tragg felt like an errant schoolboy, anxious to make everything right with the teacher. He hated himself, hated the veiled threat he had made about Mason's relationship with Della, hated that he had feelings for a woman who could never return them in kind.

He stood in the doorway, blocking the big attorney's exit. "Mason," he began, then stopped, at a loss for words.

Perry Mason halted impatiently. "Della told me she set you straight."

"You are a very lucky man, Mason," Tragg said simply.

"Believe me, Lieutenant, I tell myself that at least a hundred times a day."

"She's something special. If I ever find out you've mistreated her…"

Mason gave a rueful snort. "Get in line behind Paul Drake, Lieutenant. When he's done removing my liver through my nostril, you can have at me."

"You do understand she's the only reason I won't tell anyone the entire story of how I know you didn't leave the lake house the night Wade Baynum was killed."

"I'm aware of that, and you have my sincere gratitude. She's also the only reason I intend to be a perfect host at dinner tonight."

Tragg moved aside and allowed Mason to exit the room. Three strides into the hallway he turned and retraced his steps.

"Tragg, you'd better not – "

Tragg pushed Perry Mason back into the hallway. "Don't worry. The image of having my liver removed through my nostril is enough to make me behave."

* * *

><p>Della was lying on her stomach on the bed, feet in the air, ankles crossed, the galley proof of Wade Baynum's <em>Spicy Bits <em>interview in front of her when Perry returned to their room. She didn't look up when he entered the room, her entire attention given to the scandalous prose of Eva Belter's gossip rag. He set her luggage down just inside the door and carried the garment bag into the bathroom, where he unzipped it and pulled out the white sundress and a more casual yellow shirtwaist dress. After hanging them from the shower rod next to the suit he had worn for "his" anniversary dinner, he made his way back into the bedroom, where he pulled off his shoes and climbed onto the bed next to Della, adopting her belly-flop position. Just as he settled himself, she turned over the last page of the galley proof and pushed the small stack aside.

"That's the third time you've read that dreck." he pointed out, frankly quite surprised to find her awake and actually able to read. She had been a bit wobbly on the way up from the lounge, and in the elevator had sagged against him with an enormous yawn that had drawn curious looks from the other passengers. By his count, she had downed five cocktails and eaten precisely one half of a roll. He had expected to find her deeply asleep, not reading through the sordid spin put on an already unfortunate story.

"I was just looking for a little insight into Maryann," she said with a sigh.

"You didn't really expect to find anything insightful in that piece of crap, did you?"

"You admitted it contained the basic facts. I thought maybe I could extract the facts from the hyperbole, but it's difficult to discern what is fact and what is fiction. I guess that's the point of these rags."

"You could ask me," he reminded her gently.

She began to rhythmically raise and lower her legs, letting them bounce on the mattress, alternating the left and right. "Your facts are different than Maryann's," she said slowly. "I know why you did what you did. I want to know why Maryann did what she did."

"Ask her tomorrow."

She threw him a horrified look. "I can't ask her!"

"Then I'll ask her. I never bothered to find out. I just wanted to get away from her."

"You can't ask her either," Della told him firmly.

"Her behavior and motives are what underlie Wade's entire interview with _Spicy Bits_. Someonewill need to ask her eventually, and I think that someone should be the aggrieved party."

"In Maryann's eyes, _**she**_ is the aggrieved party." She stopped kicking and lowered her chin to the mattress, stretched her arms out so that they dangled over the edge. "She still carries a lot of bitterness. And she knows."

"She knows what?" He reached out and petted the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her silky curls.

"About us. She wasn't quite as corked as she appeared and said something she thought would get a reaction out of me."

"And you laughed," he commented, remembering hearing her from the hallway when he was admitting Lieutenant Tragg.

"I had to. It was outrageous, rude, improper, hilarious, and sad all at the same time."

"I wondered why you laughed. I assumed Maryann had been improper."

"Oh, she was improper all right."

He stopped petting her, his hand buried in the thoroughly finger-tossed curls at the nape of her neck. "What did she say?"

"It's not something I can _**tell **_you," she answered coyly.

"Sounds interesting." He ran his index finger down her spine, eliciting the expected shiver from her.

"How much time do we have before dinner?"

Perry inched closer and nuzzled her neck, just below her ear, his lips warm and gentle. "Plenty," he almost growled, his desire for her urgent and immediate.

She rolled away from him and slid to the floor. "I need to take a shower," she announced, skirting the bed and gliding toward the bathroom. At the doorway she turned to regard him lying atop the counterpane, disappointment plainly evident in his sprawling pose. "Aren't you going to help me with the places I can't reach?"

* * *

><p>The hotel concierge recommended several restaurants within walking distance of the hotel, and the trio selected a Mexican adobe restaurant unanimously primarily due to the mention of free-flowing margaritas. Tragg admitted he had never had a margarita, setting off a chorus of derision from Mason and Della, and the decision was made. With Della tucked chivalrously between the two men, they walked three blocks to the restaurant, arriving laughing and in high spirits. The restaurant was crowded, but charmed by Della in her white dress, and sensing a large tip in the offing, the head waiter seated them immediately at a remote table and very quickly placed an aqua bubble glass pitcher and matching margarita glasses in front of them. By the time their enchiladas, tamales, and frijoles with tortilla chips arrived, they were on their second pitcher of drinks and Tragg had gotten over his knee-jerk impression that a margarita was a "sissy" drink.<p>

There was no need to go in search of a nightclub after the last delicious fruit-filled empanada had been eaten, for the adobe boasted an outdoor stone terrace beneath a vine-covered pergola into which had been twined twinkling white lights. A raised dance floor circled by small metal glass-topped tables meant to hold nothing but cocktail glasses and a miniscule pottery ashtray completed the charming scene. Around these tables were uncomfortable, insignificant matching folding metal chairs that so offended Perry Mason he declared his intention to remain on the dance floor and out of those rotten chairs as much as possible, guided Della toward the middle of enthusiastic crowd, and seamlessly merged them into a spirited fox trot.

Tragg sat alone at a table, filling the ashtray and emptying the third pitcher of margaritas while Mason and Della swirled around the dance floor in perfect synchronicity. Della was a divine dancer. He knew this from personal experience, from an evening spent with Mason, Drake, and Della about a year ago. Their dance had been much too short, and he had thrown a wet blanket over the festive atmosphere by trying to pump her for information the entire time. If he ever had the opportunity to dance with her again he wouldn't be such a hard-nosed, dedicated cop. But considering all that had come to light in the past few days, he doubted very much he would have the chance to dance with Della ever again.

He had refilled his glass from a fourth pitcher of margaritas when a gentle hand landed on his shoulder. "May I have this dance?" Startled, he looked up into Della's sparkling eyes.

Tragg stood quickly, knocking over the tiny metal chair in the process, causing Della to laugh heartily. "I promise I'm much lighter on my feet than this might indicate," he told her ruefully.

Della held out her arms and allowed him to guide her back onto the dance floor. "I remember, Lieutenant."

"I do have a given first name, you know." The dance was a waltz, his best dance, and a chance to hold her more closely than if it had been a samba or a fox trot.

Della's laughter blended perfectly with the music. "I didn't call Perry by his first name for two whole years. I get into a habit and it's hard to break. To me, your first name is 'Lieutenant'. "

"Speaking of Perry, where is the lad?"

"I sent him on a wild goose chase for my wrap."

Tragg pulled back to look at her skeptically. "The headwaiter took your wrap and put it behind the reservation desk because it kept falling off your chair."

"You know that little detail, but Perry was talking to the couple at the table behind him when Jorge took my wrap. I'm counting on him paying the bill, and judging by the late supper crowd, by the time he locates Jorge, and returns with my wrap, we'll be able to have a nice, long waltz."

"Why Miss Street, I'm simply shocked at how you are taking advantage of our host."

Della grinned wickedly. "He would prefer I not dance with you tonight. For all his confidence and take charge attitude, he's quite possessive of me."

"Can't say I blame him," Tragg admitted. "As long as that possessiveness doesn't go too far."

"Maybe possessive isn't quite the proper word," she mused. "He's not a particularly jealous man, so 'protective' might be a better word."

"He certainly is that," Tragg quickly conceded.

"Thank you for agreeing not to use the fact that…that we…that Perry and I –" she broke off with a frown of consternation, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks.

He executed a smooth turn and tugged her a little closer. "I can't apologize enough for that, Della. I saw an opportunity to remove Mason from the picture so we plodding flat foots could do our jobs for once without bumping into him at every turn. I didn't consider how holding that over his head would affect you."

"Everything that affects Perry affects me," she said quietly. "At one time I thought you two could be friends, Lieutenant. Perry's a wonderful friend. I think at heart you and he are very much alike."

"I don't know about that, but we did bury the hatchet this afternoon when he picked up your luggage. I told him what a lucky guy he was and that if he ever mistreated you I'd – "

"Pull his liver out his nostril?" She was grinning broadly.

"I'm thinking maybe his ear," Tragg amended with a lopsided smile. "He inferred he'd perform a similar operation on me if I didn't keep my distance from you."

She gave a small exclamation. "For Heaven's sake! Can't I trust you two little boys alone for five minutes?"

Tragg stopped dancing and pulled Della to the edge of the floor, to the side of the band shell where the music was slightly muffled. "He was right to warn me," he told her. "My feelings for you won't vanish overnight."

Della pressed her hand to his cheek briefly. "Lieutenant," she said gently, "I appreciate your candor, and I'm so very flattered. I had no idea you felt anything more for me than polite annoyance at being Perry's secretary."

"I'm fairly good at keeping things hidden," he told her with that same lopsided smile, wondering who on earth could ever find her annoying. "It's a trait of most cops, which is why there is such a high rate of alcoholism and suicide among our ranks."

He sucked in a small breath of air at her alarmed expression, at how the twinkling lights above reflected the genuine concern in her mesmerizing eyes.

"Don't worry," he assured her, fighting an overwhelming urge to gather her into his arms for caring about the dire reality of being a cop. "Life still holds more good than bad for me."

"I'm glad, Lieutenant." She smiled up at him.

The waltz ended and the band announced a short break. As the musicians descended the few metal steps from the raised stage and filed past them, Tragg regarded the beautiful woman next to him with regret that no amount of tequila could disguise. "We should get back to the table before someone jumps our claim," he said, placing his hand at the small of her back.

Tragg had just seated Della and lowered himself carefully onto a dinky chair opposite her when Mason returned, Della's filmy white wrap folded over his arm. "Ah, a fresh pitcher," he observed approvingly. "I'll drink standing up if you don't mind. I suspect those chairs could irrevocably alter a person's manhood."

Tragg solemnly filled Mason's glass and handed it to him. "Once again, a cop's bravery rules over a lawyer's distrust."

"I don't equate foolhardiness with bravery," Mason replied easily, draping the wrap around Della's shoulders. His hand lingered on her back affectionately.

"No guts, no glory," Tragg shot back.

"'Distrust and caution are the parents of security'*," Mason drawled.

Della stood abruptly. "'Boys will be boys. And even that wouldn't matter if only we could prevent girls from being girls'**," she quoted succinctly, pushed past Perry Mason, and walked away as quickly as her three-inch heels would allow.

Tragg started to stand, but Mason stopped him with a glare. "I'll handle this," he bit out. "I've already taken care of the dinner bill. Any other expense you might incur is on the taxpayers of Los Angeles. Goodnight Lieutenant."

"Did you have a nice dance with Tragg?" He asked as he fell into step alongside her outside the restaurant.

Della didn't alter her pace or look at him. "Spectacular. He's the best dance partner I've ever had."

"Are you going to run all the way to the hotel?" Even with his long strides she was inching ahead of him.

"I'm trying to beat my roommate back so I can lock the door from inside," she flung over her shoulder.

He grabbed her arm, pulled her around and into his arms. "Della," he said cajolingly, "baby, I'm sorry."

She struggled against his encircling arms. "You should be. That was ridiculous."

"Yes, it was. Everything has been rather ridiculous since the moment Tragg showed up."

Della stopped pushing at him. "Damn you," she said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

She dropped her head to his chest. "Why do you put up with me?"

"I'm sorry, darling, but I'm not following the direction in which you've taken this conversation."

"A man is dead, the unfortunate circumstances of an innocent seventeen year old girl's birth could be exposed by Eva Belter any minute – not to mention the circumstances of our true relationship – and I'm upset because you and Tragg are playing a silly word game of one-upmanship to impress me. You should be beyond frustrated with me."

Perry dipped his head and sought her lips. When she finally relaxed in his arms and gave herself fully to the kiss, allowing his tongue to gently flick her parting lips, to playfully tease entry into her mouth, he moaned deep in his throat. "I put up with you," he told her raggedly between languidly sensuous assaults on her willing mouth, "because I am completely, madly, and passionately in love with you."

Her tongue parried his advances, her teeth nibbled at his bottom lip, eliciting another moan. "Tell me again," she demanded in a heated whisper.

"I love you, Della. I will love you for the rest of my life."

Her arms circled his neck as she lifted herself onto tip-toes. "I'm going to hold you to that statement, Counselor, for the rest of _**my**_ life."

* * *

><p>Lieutenant Arthur Tragg descended the wide steps of the restaurant, turning in the direction of The Grand Fowler once he hit the sidewalk. However, a surprisingly public tableau bathed in the glow from a nearby lamppost stopped him in his tracks and caused him to do an immediate about-face. He wasn't going to be anyone's alibi tonight.<p>

_*Benjamin Franklin_

_**Anne Frank_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It was a subdued and bleary-eyed Maryann Baynum who opened the door the next morning when Perry Mason rang the bell. After a brief hesitation, she wordlessly stepped aside and allowed both he and Della to enter the house.

Attired in a man's flannel robe and with her black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, Maryann looked defeated and weary as she shuffled down the hallway to the parlor. She seemed older and smaller, dull and doughy, a far cry from the robustly healthy woman from the previous day. Her fingers waggled toward the settee listlessly. "You can sit there." She sighed. "I'm so tired. If you don't mind, I'm going to lie down." And she did just that, sliding her tall frame over the slick silk fabric and clutching a fringed pillow to her chest. "I love this couch," she said. "It's so pretty. Kay-Kay ruined the original upholstery when she was five, and Wade had it recovered as a surprise for my birthday last month. I guess he used the money he got from that woman."

"Kay-Kay is your daughter?" Della asked. She had seated herself on the settee and removed a steno pad and pencils from her purse out of habit. She had no earthly idea what Perry was going to say to Maryann or if he even wanted her to take notes. He hadn't been particularly keen to discuss the meeting with her last night after returning to the hotel room from dinner. Instead, he'd slowly removed the white sundress while his exquisitely tender mouth explored every inch of her trembling body, bringing her almost more pleasure than she could endure. Yes, Maryann. Yes.

Maryann rested her head on three stacked pillows and took in Della's effortlessly elegant appearance, the simple yellow shirtwaist dress, the understated but expensive gold jewelry, the confidence in her carriage. "That's what Wade called her," Maryann said by way of answering, still openly appraising Della's appearance. "He hated Persephone. Kay is her middle name, after our younger sister."

"Where is Kay-Kay?" Perry Mason entered the conversation.

"I told her to stay upstairs out of everyone's way. She doesn't need to know her uncle was no good."

"What makes you say that?"

"He sold my life story to that woman, didn't he? And he was blackmailing you, wasn't he? Using me and Kay-Kay to threaten you and the lovely Miss Street?"

"He did give an interview about you and me and Kay-Kay to a scandal sheet called _Spicy Bits_," Perry replied, carefully choosing his words. "And he did send a few letters demanding certain things from me or the interview would be published."

"I know what he did. He wanted you to admit being married to me and to being Kay-Kay's father," Maryann said matter-of-factly.

"Except that I'm not Kay-Kay's father and the marriage was annulled on the grounds of deceit," Perry reminded her. His voice was level, emotionless.

"Kay-Kay is your child, Perry," Maryann replied stiffly.

"Maryann, stop it. You really don't want to drag the past out for everyone to read about. I'm fairly well-known now and – "

"And I was your wife and I haven't gotten a damn thing out of your success! You buy your _**secretary**_ expensive jewelry and take her on around-the-world cruises – I told you I know all about you! – but you'll allow your _**wife's**_ house to crumble around her and your _**daughter**_ to go through life illegitimate." Bitterness dripped from every word she spoke. "Wade was a failure at everything he did. He squandered all the money our parents left us gambling and investing in ventures that had no hope of succeeding. He couldn't hold a job for more than a couple of months, and in the last five years didn't work at all. If Bert hadn't let me do his books for him after Madge retired, we'd have starved a long time ago. Can you possibly imagine how I must have felt all these years reading about your success and knowing that I would never benefit from it?"

"Maryann, legally we were never married. You aren't entitled to anything from me because I would never have married you if you hadn't claimed your child was mine. "

"She is yours," Maryann whispered desperately.

"She is not mine. If for one minute I'd believed her to be mine, I would have supported her all these years."

"She is yours," Maryann repeated in the same urgent whisper. She met Perry Mason's hard stare imploringly.

The doorbell rang. Della jumped. Perry Mason and Maryann Baynum remained motionless.

"Answer the door please, Della," Perry requested, not taking his eyes from Maryann. "It's probably Tragg. I figured we wouldn't beat him by much."

Della stood wordlessly and walked without haste from the parlor to the hallway.

"Maryann, you have to stop claiming that I'm your daughter's father, and refute Wade's interview so that it won't be published. There is no reason to hurt innocent people."

"You mean it will hurt you and your precious reputation," she spat, "Still selfish as ever, Perry. All you care about is yourself."

He shook his head. "If I only cared about myself," he said with steel in his voice, "I would crush you in a very public lawsuit. But I have Della to think about, and you have your daughter to think about. Neither one of them deserves to be hurt because you've been holding a grudge against me all these years. You have to admit I'm not your daughter's father."

"You are," she insisted, desperation still strangling her voice. "You have to be." A flicker of panic touched her eyes.

Perry blinked with sudden insight and leaned forward, a sick feeling in his stomach. He was almost afraid of the course his thoughts had taken. "Maryann, was _**Wade**_ the father?"

Maryann stiffened. "No! No. You're the father."

"Maryann," his voice was like a gunshot, quick and loud. "Tell the truth. Was Wade your daughter's father?"

"You're her father."

"You really don't want to go up against me in court, Maryann. What I'll do to you is a hundred times worse than what Wade's interview will do to me. Tell the truth. Was Wade your daughter's father?"

Maryann Baynum stared directly into Perry Mason's cold, hard eyes. He was so different from the unformed, naïve young man she had known, overpoweringly masculine and self-assured, his attractiveness heightened by maturity. Her claim on him was tenuous at best, morally reprehensible, legally expunged, irrationally sustained. He thought he could crush her, but what he didn't realize was that she had been crushed long ago.

"Yes," she said clearly, strongly. "Yes, Wade was Kay-Kay's father."

From the doorway, Della let out a horrified gasp, clapped one hand over her mouth and reached out to Tragg to steady herself.

Maryann Baynum sat regally tall on her pretty couch. She swiveled her head slowly toward Della, who had gone sickly pale. Her eyes were empty of emotion. "Oh, don't swoon, Princess," she said calmly, "Wade was my _**step**_-brother."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Della leaned her forehead against the highly polished wood paneling and took a deep breath, grateful to no longer be in the parlor. It had taken only one question from Lieutenant Tragg for Maryann Baynum to begin talking, ignoring Perry's repeated cautionary advice, disorganized thoughts and words tumbling from her mouth uninterrupted for nearly twenty minutes. The story she told was tragic and shocking, fueled by a dysfunctional family legacy and years of escalating bitterness over a scheme gone wrong, ultimately ending with the appearance of Eva Belter and Wade's broken vow of silence.

Tragg and Captain Ingles had arrived with a police stenographer named Doris in tow, but Della took notes herself, raw reactions to Maryann's words that would not be a part of the official transcript. Perry always found her notes to be valuable, and on more than one occasion had discovered the solution to a case hidden within the mysterious pothooks, or in the questions and/or observations she often scribbled on transcribed records. However, she doubted very much that she would transcribe these notes completely. Some thoughts were just better left unrecorded.

When Maryann finally ran out of steam, Tragg and Captain Ingles jumped in immediately with questions. Della felt a tug at the steno pad, and looked up into Perry's concerned eyes as he gently pried the pad and pencil from her stiff fingers. "Why don't you get a glass of water, baby," he said quietly. "The kitchen is at the end of the hallway."

She used the pretense of his assistance to hold his hand while she stood, tip-toed from the parlor, and made her way toward the swinging door at the end of the dark hallway, where she halted to collect herself. The cool varnished wood brought back a recent memory, and she smiled, thoughts collected. She pushed at the door, but it opened a mere crack before encountering something and bouncing back toward her.

* * *

><p>There was a small exclamation of consternation, a scuffle of shoes on linoleum, and a click. By the time Della was able to open the door completely and enter the kitchen, whoever had been on the other side of the door had disappeared.<p>

She surveyed the long, narrow room and settled on what appeared to be a walk-in pantry as the likeliest hiding spot, although the cabinets, which no doubt were original to the house, could easily conceal an adult. Well, a seventeen year old girl, anyway.

"Kay-Kay," she called softly. "Is that you? Come out, sweetie, I'd like to meet you."

The pantry door clicked again and opened a crack. "Mama told me to stay in my room. She'll be mad if she finds out I came downstairs."

Della was surprised at the child-like lilt in Kay-Kay's voice. "I won't tell your Mama, Kay-Kay. It'll be our little secret."

The pantry door opened wide enough for one dirty canvas shoe to poke through. "You came here with my Papa, didn't you?"

"I came here with Mr. Mason," Della corrected gently. Papa? Apparently Maryann Baynum had perpetuated the deception of her daughter's origin in the child herself.

"You his wife?" The pantry door inched open as another foot appeared and a hand grasped the edge of the door.

"No, I'm not his wife. I'm his secretary. Do you know what a secretary is?"

"You know how to type?"

Della smiled. "Yes, I know how to type. Do you?"

"Uh uh. Mama says it's too noisy. She doesn't like noise. She has spells, you know. I have to be very quiet."

"No, I didn't know she had spells. What kind of spells?"

"Oh, she drinks medicine and has to sleep."

The answer was a verbal shrug, given by a young lady who appeared to be simple, or horribly naïve. Facts about Maryann Baynum's life the past seventeen years were piling up, and what was emerging was sad indeed.

"Kay-Kay, would you come out of the pantry so I can see you, sweetie?"

The pantry door opened slowly and a miniature version of Maryann Baynum stepped from the darkness into the light and airy kitchen. Kay-Kay had her mother's lustrous black hair, her deep-set brilliant blue eyes, her full lips, and her curvy figure. However, it was all packaged in a girl of small stature, a few inches shorter than Della.

"I know you," Kay-Kay said in surprise. "I have pictures." She held out a large square leather book upon which the word "Memories" had been gilded in an elegant script. Kay-Kay excitedly placed the scrapbook on the kitchen table and flipped through several pages until a picture clipped from a newspaper caught her attention. Her finger dropped to the yellowed clipping. "There! There you are. Miss Della Street."

Della peered over Kay-Kay's shoulder. She remembered the photo well. It was the first taken by a reporter of her and Perry in public, the first published intimation that their relationship was more than professional. Snapped at the California Bar Association Christmas dinner in the first year of her employment, the accompanying few lines of gossip identified her as Mr. Mason's new "constant companion", having accompanied him to several holiday functions recently. It was also the night that he kissed her for the first time.

Kay-Kay continued to flip pages and point to photographs of Della with Perry. "And here's another one! Ooooooh, I like your dress." She turned toward Della, her amazing eyes curious. "If you aren't my Papa's wife, why do you always have your picture taken with him?"

Obviously Kay-Kay didn't grasp the function of a secretary, as easily half of the photos in her scrapbook were of her and Perry entering or exiting the courtroom and/or the courthouse. "We work together, Kay-Kay. Mr. Mason has a very important job so the newspaper reporters take pictures of him."

"But this picture says you 'shadow him at play'," Kay-Kay's insistent finger jabbed a picture taken at yet another Bar Association function, this one of them dancing, Della's head tilted up in laughter, Perry's tilted toward her with evident adoration, his hand placed caressingly on her bare back. Della had clipped this picture herself and closed it in her dictionary along with two dried roses. "That doesn't mean you work with him. What do you and my Papa play?"

Della cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Kay-Kay, I'd like a drink of water. Would you help me find a glass?" There was something familiar poking out from where it had been hastily inserted toward the back of the scrapbook. Unable to make an immediate identification, she wanted to get a better look at it. Theorizing that the girl didn't have much of an attention span, Della distracted her from the scrapbook with a task.

It worked like a charm. Kay-Kay abandoned the book and shuffled across the ancient green linoleum that had been scrubbed bare in spots, and opened a cupboard to the left of the chipped enamel sink. Della realized that the girl's canvas shoes were at least three sizes too large for her, and that her dress was faded and threadbare, the hem ragged and uneven. She wanted to cry for this simple girl, whose entire life had been hidden away in the decaying house with a mother unable to venture a step outside, who denied her a father, medicated herself with alcohol, and held a veritable stranger responsible for all her problems.

Della tugged at the corner of the sheaf of papers that protruded from the pages of the scrapbook and her heart sank. She quickly pushed the papers back into the book and faced Kay-Kay just as the girl turned and thrust the glass of water at her. Della smiled, her lips trembling, and took a sip.

"Are those men in the parlor cops?"

Della nodded. "Yes. One is Captain Ingles from here in Sacramento, and the other is Lieutenant Tragg from Los Angeles."

"You're from Los Angeles," Kay-Kay stated offhandedly. She stepped past Della and flipped a few pages of her scrapbook to a page with an 8x10 picture of a thin man with horn-rimmed glasses. "Are they here 'cuz of Uncle Wade?"

"What do you know about your Uncle Wade, Kay-Kay?" Sometimes Perry's method of answering questions with questions was the best tactic.

"He was a bad man," she replied flatly. Her finger traced the white border around the photograph.

Della's hand closed over the girl's wrist gently. "Why do you say that?"

Kay-Kay looked at her strangely, as if she thought everyone knew why her uncle was a bad man. "Because he was going to hurt my Papa," she explained sadly. "I'll have to take all his pictures out of my book."

"What else do you know about your Uncle Wade?" Della's heart sank deeper. This poor child.

"He's dead. Mama's sad and she drank a lot of medicine." Her finger pointed to the photo. "I tied his tie for this picture," she said proudly.

"Are you sad like your Mama, Kay-Kay?"

The girl shrugged. "I guess so. Uncle Wade was nice to me sometimes." She brightened. "I know how to drive."

"Do you now. Did your Uncle Wade teach you?"

Kay-Kay shook her head vigorously. "Uncle Bert taught me. Aunt Madge is really old. Her car is old like her and smells funny, but Uncle Bert lets me drive it around the block sometimes." She slowly closed her scrapbook and picked it up. "Are you going back in the parlor? I'm not allowed in the parlor. I ruin things."

Della gripped the glass tightly with both hands. "I don't need to go back for a few minutes. Would you like me to stay and talk to you?"

Della could barely hold back her tears at the expression of absolute joy on Kay-Kay's face.

* * *

><p>Where in the devil was she?'<p>

Perry Mason couldn't concentrate on Maryann's answers to Tragg's questions. He wanted Della to be taking notes, since Maryann seemed agreeable to both of them being present during the police questioning. The revelation that Maryann had ventured outside only in her back yard for seventeen years explained Tragg's presence in Sacramento more than his status as a "nice" police officer, and it perturbed him that the good Lieutenant had kept the fact from him. It was possible Tragg assumed he knew, but more than likely it was just another example of the police withholding information from him because they could. He wished he had insisted that Paul Drake arrive as soon as possible instead of giving him time to enjoy the disrobed young lady.

Worry about Della's reaction to his annulled marriage and to meeting yet another woman from his past was overshadowing his thinking. He needed Della to record the facts and jot down her impressions so he could verify his own thoughts. He trusted her insights often more than his own, especially when it came to women, although in this particular situation she seemed out of sorts. She didn't understand how he could have married Maryann, a woman he claimed not to love, that he barely knew, but could have been carrying his child. Duty, alcohol, and immaturity weren't acceptable reasons for her, but it was all he had to offer.

Maryann's voice had become a weary monotone, answering the questions of Tragg and Captain Ingles in total defeat. Perry didn't like Maryann, but seeing her drained of life, her sharp-tongued vibrancy squashed, he suffered a pang of regret. He knew Della didn't approve of his harshness in dealing with Maryann, even though it had brought them to this point, to the truth about what happened seventeen years ago. Disappointing Della pained him, for her belief in him was what made him a decent man, what sustained him in his quest for justice.

Where was she? She had been gone for almost fifteen minutes. Surely she hadn't been so upset that she couldn't bear to return to the interview? Della was the strongest person he knew. She didn't run from difficult situations. She should have gotten a drink of water and returned right away. That was his Della, the Della he knew, the Della he counted on.

His attention snapped back to the situation at hand, realizing that he had missed a question as well as Maryann's entire response, that the timeline being discussed had moved forward. This was not acceptable. He needed to find Della. He coughed, paused, coughed again. Tragg shot him an annoyed frown, not completely unaware himself how long Della had been absent.

Three questions later, Perry coughed again and was about to rise from the settee when Della appeared in the doorway. Her eyes glistened with valiantly unshed tears, and she seemed unsteady on her feet. Before he could stand, she continued down the hallway and out the front door.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Tears threatening, Della ducked her head and hurried down the cracked and uneven walkway toward the street, where Perry had parked the car. As she blindly reached for the door handle, a masculine hand grabbed her wrist, spun her around.

"Hey Beautiful, you ran right by me. After only nine days you don't recognize me?" Seeing her face, Paul Drake's wide smile crashed. "What's the matter, Della? Are you all right?"

Della crumpled, silent tears spilling from anguished eyes, streaming down pale cheeks. Paul didn't know quite what to do aside from holding her up by her elbows when her knees buckled. The sound of a door slamming caused him to look up just as Perry Mason burst from behind overgrown bushes that obscured the front of the house and pounded down the walkway at a dead run. Without a word, he slid his arms beneath Della's and lifted her to his chest in a fierce hug, one large hand cradling her head close to his. He turned his back on Paul Drake as he spoke to her quietly, gently.

Della literally melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing her legs up around his waist, clinging to him like a hurt child. "Open the car door, Paul," Perry Mason ordered gruffly.

The tall detective did as he was bidden, and hovered awkwardly by the car while Perry settled himself on the seat, Della's legs pulled back in a kneeling position, straddling his lap. He continued to murmur words of comfort and endearment and apology into her ear while rocking her protectively. He never should have brought her here, never should have subjected her to his foolish past with Maryann Baynum. His purpose in life was to make her happy and protect her, and lately he had been a dismal failure at both.

The private relationship between Perry and Della was not unknown to Paul Drake. Almost from the very beginning he had felt the supercharged current of their attraction fill the spaces around them, literally passing through solid objects, the electric snaps nearly visible to the naked eye. He secretly chortled at their "discretion", at the excuses they concocted to touch one another whenever possible, at the mussed hair, the slightly askew clothing, the elaborately innocent expressions he began noticing about six months into her employment when he so obviously interrupted their office clinches. They verbalized their relationship to him subtlety, with humor and circumstance, confident that he would honor their implied wish for privacy. In all the years he'd known them to be intimate they had guarded the depth of their feelings, even from him. That they were so publically displaying their relationship surprised him, and he remained standing by the car, shielding them from possible prying eyes.

Della suddenly drew an enormous calming, shuddering breath and sat back on Perry's knees, wiping the tears from her cheeks with both hands, heedless of the damage to her make-up. His hands continued to move across her back in a soothing rhythm of patient tenderness as she battled the engulfing emotion that had caused her flight from the Baynum house.

"Do you want to tell me?" His voice echoed the tenderness of his hands, inviting her to confide while confirming it was all right if she didn't.

She sniffed and nodded, dark eyes huge in her pale face. "I met Kay-Kay." Fresh tears pooled. "She thinks you're her father."

"Baby," he began, but she placed her fingers over his lips.

"She's lovely," she whispered. "Sheltered and naïve but so curious and sweet. I don't think anyone has ever paid much attention to her. She's never been to school, never played with children her own age, never had a pet. She sneaks out of the house to visit Madge and Bert Keating, but much of her life is spent alone in her bedroom out of Maryann's sight."

"Is that what upset you? That she's been neglected?" Della would have embraced the girl immediately with the kindness and caring of her beautiful heart, a heart that Perry had seen broken again and again for the meek and the damaged.

Della leaned toward Paul Drake and wiped her wet face on the tail of his sport coat. "She showed me her scrapbook. It has a few pictures of her Uncle Wade and her mother, one of her as a baby, a couple of movie tickets…and just about every picture of you ever printed in a newspaper or tabloid." She drew another shuddering breath. "It also has a copy of her uncle's _Spicy Bits_ interview hidden in the back, along with a linen envelope addressed to you."

Perry Mason's eyes narrowed, his thoughts swirling around what Della was telling him and her emotional reaction. "Did she say why she has them?"

Della shook her head, tears once again trailing down her cheeks, her fingers plucking agitatedly at Perry's shirt. "She doesn't know I saw them. We talked. She told me she knows how to drive, that Maryann drinks until she passes out, that a group of turtles is called a bale, and that she liked to tie her uncle's tie even though he was a bad man for wanting to hurt you."

Perry captured her hands in his and stared at her intently, attempting to decipher what it was she was trying to tell him, what it was Kay-Kay had told her that would make her run away in tears. "What else did she tell you, Della? Kay-Kay's life has certainly been pitiful, but it shouldn't have made you run away like that."

Della's distress was almost too much for Perry to bear as he tried to still squirming fingers that tugged at his. "She told me what her name means."

"Persephone? She was a goddess, wasn't she?" He strained to remember his high school Greek mythology. "Something about the change in seasons?" He had seriously questioned Maryann's sanity upon reading what she had named her daughter, but hadn't given much thought to any meaning behind the name. "Why would her name upset you so much?"

Paul Drake turned and braced one arm on the roof of the car so he could see both Perry and Della as he read from a small notebook. "Persephone was a goddess of nature, abducted by Hades and forced to live in the underworld. Her abduction caused great famine because in her despair she allowed no plants to flourish. Zeus finally forced Hades to return Persephone, but she could only spend two-thirds of the year away from the underworld. When she returned, plants withered and the Earth became barren. Her name has come to mean 'bringer of destruction' or 'to bring or cause death'."

The misery in Della's eyes and the almost imperceptible bob of her head raised the hair on the nape of Perry Mason's neck. "Della, are you thinking that…" he couldn't finish his question.

It was too tragic to consider.

No wonder Della had run.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Neither Perry nor Paul carried handkerchiefs, and there were no tissues in the car, so Paul's sport coat was again utilized to wipe Della's tears as she struggled to regain her composure. Admitting her fears about Kay-Kay to Perry and knowing that he understood made her feel somewhat better, but she needed a bit of time to calm herself. Her heart-wrenching suspicions had silenced the men, who were now both standing outside the car while she remained inside, head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed.

"Have you been able to find out anything aside from the origin of Kay-Kay's given name?" Perry broke the silence, his words a corrosive judgment on Paul's fact-gathering, helplessly angry at himself for the pain his past was causing Della.

"Quite a bit, actually," Paul drawled, accustomed to Perry's moods, aware that his concern for Della and the situation at hand were controlling him. "Beginning with the fact that Maryann Baynum was once your wife. That's a hell of a secret you've been keeping all these years, pal."

"Don't tell me you didn't know," Perry scoffed, "You must have investigated me inside out when I first approached you to do my legwork."

"I did a cursory background check," Paul admitted, "but the records of your marriage and the annulment were very tightly sealed. The girl's birth certificate wasn't so difficult to access. Your name isn't on it."

"That's because she isn't mine. Maryann lied. I was young and gullible and had faith in my good friend Wade. I had the marriage annulled the instant I learned the baby couldn't possibly be mine."

Paul looked down at Della furtively, took Perry's elbow and walked him several steps away from the car. "Did Della know all of this?"

Perry studied his feet for a moment. "No. I couldn't ever find a way to tell her. I was forced to tell her after Tragg showed up at the lake house with a proof of the _Spicy Bits_ interview and the blackmail letters."

"How could you bring her here to confront your ex-wife? Look what's it's doing to her."

"First of all, Maryann is not my ex-wife. The marriage was annulled and therefore never existed. And second of all, it was Della's idea to come here. I wanted to stay at the lake house until it all blew over."

Paul stared at him in disbelief. "If you approached all of your cases like that, your record of acquittal would be damn dismal, my friend. Let's for a moment forget that Wade Baynum has been murdered, and concentrate on the fact that Eva Belter is shooting off her mouth all over Los Angeles that she has something juicy on you, that she's offered a photograph of what she claims is you and Della in a rather public display of affection to the Associated Press, and that you thoughtlessly exposed the woman you profess to love to an emotional pain neither of us can begin to imagine."

"It wasn't without thought," Perry denied weakly. "I need her."

"Now is not the time to be selfish, Perry. Della should still be at the lake house, or at the very least holed up at the hotel bar with a battalion of cocktails lined up in front of her."

"You try telling her that," Perry perked up defensively. "Have _**you**_ ever won an argument with her when she really digs in?"

"All I'm saying is, if I had an ex-wife hidden away somewhere – "

"Dammit, Paul, stop calling Maryann my ex-wife." Perry ran his hand through his hair. "What about that photograph?"

"I'm being told it's poorly lit and you can't tell much aside from the fact that a man is kissing a woman in a white dress under a street lamp, but Mrs. Belter claims it's you and Della outside a Mexican restaurant right here in Sacramento. The headwaiter, a fellow named Jorge, has confirmed that you and Della were there last night, that Della was indeed wearing a white dress, and that you and she appeared to be quite cozy all evening."

"Hells bells," Perry said irritably. "We were there with Tragg. There wasn't much opportunity to get cozy."

"Except outside on the sidewalk," Paul pointed out.

"Except outside on the sidewalk," Perry admitted.

"In eight years you've never kissed Della in front of me, the one person who would never sell you out, but you'll neck on a public street? How could you not have realized Eva Belter would have a photographer here once she got wind that you and Della were in Sacramento?"

"It was my fault," Della spoke up behind them. "It's so much more complicated than you realize, Paul." Both men turned as she shut the car door and approached them, still slightly wobbly on her feet. "I was being irrational about something minor in the scheme of things." She moved to Perry's side and slid her arms around his waist, leaning into him for support. "And it was my idea to come here."

"Well, whatever discretion about your relationship you wanted to maintain will be torn to pieces if the AP picks up that photo," Paul pointed out unnecessarily. Then his eyes softened. "All better?"

"Better enough to go back in," she stated firmly. "What else have you got?"

"Has Tragg said anything about Hamilton Burger's early morning telephone call?"

"No. He and Captain Ingles from the Sacramento Homicide Squad have been steadily questioning Maryann and I've been mostly listening. She's admitted that Wade was her daughter's father," Perry explained.

Drake whistled under his breath. "Well, that was unexpected. I had another suspect in mind once I figured out you weren't the father."

"And who would that be?"

"The guy Hamilton Burger called about this morning. Lambert Keating."

Perry's mind shifted to a comment Maryann had made the previous day. "All ex-lovers accounted for". He had no idea Bert Keating knew either Wade or Maryann seventeen years ago. "Why would Hamilton Burger call about Bert?"

"Because the police unearthed a witness who saw a stocky, silver-haired man in the parking lot the night Wade Baynum was killed. They remember the make and model of his car and a partial license plate number, both of which happen to match a car registered to Lambert Keating."

Della sagged against Perry. "Then maybe Kay-Kay didn't…" her voice caught as relief washed over her.

Perry hugged her to his side. "I think maybe it's time I met Kay-Kay," he said. "Why don't you stay out here in the car with Paul, baby."

Della looked up at him like he was a crazy person. "Not on your life, buster." She removed her arms from around his waist and headed back up the walkway to the decrepit porch with purposeful resolve.

Perry shrugged at Paul and turned to follow. He caught up with her as she reached for the door knob, pulled her back into his arms, and kissed her for the first time in front of Paul Drake.

* * *

><p>Della, Perry, and Paul crept quietly by the parlor where Tragg and Ingles were still questioning Maryann Baynum, going over and her over her statements in an effort to either trip her up or satisfy themselves that she wasn't lying. Only Tragg acknowledged their presence with a quick upward glance and a slight frown.<p>

Della paused at the swinging kitchen door. "I asked her to stay in the kitchen until I came back," she said in a stage whisper to Perry. "She's gregarious, but meeting you might be a bit much for her at first." She pushed at the door to reveal the old fashioned kitchen, where Kay-Kay Baynum was still obediently seated at the battered wooden table just as Della had instructed. Her unbelievable eyes widened at the sight of Perry Mason as his identity registered. She stood slowly, mouth slightly agape, arms hanging limply at her sides as she stared at the man she believed to be her father.

"Hi sweetie," Della said brightly. "I told you I'd be back. I brought Mr. Mason and Mr. Drake to meet you. Is that all right?"

Kay-Kay nodded silently, her eyes riveted on Perry Mason.

If Della hadn't been prepared to meet Maryann Baynum, Perry was equally unprepared to meet her daughter. Aside from identical twins he had never seen such an eerie replica of another human being. "Hello, Kay-Kay. I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Della says you aren't my papa," Kay-Kay said by way of greeting.

"That's right, Kay-Kay, I'm not." Perry could see why Della was so drawn to this girl. Her childish voice and ragamuffin appearance were enough to tug at his heart as well.

"Don't you want to be?"

"It's not that at all, Kay-Kay. I'm just not your father."

"You married Mama," Kay-Kay persisted. "I have a picture from your wedding." She nodded toward the scrapbook on the table.

Perry exchanged quick glances with Della. He didn't recall any pictures being taken that day, but that wasn't surprising considering his state of mind at the time. "Yes, I did," he admitted slowly. "But it was a mistake and I had to go away after the law agreed that it was a mistake."

Kay-Kay let that sink in for a moment. "You aren't married to Della," she announced.

Perry tacitly avoided glancing at Della. "No, I'm not. But I'd like to be."

Paul Drake cleared his throat at Perry's admission. The girl was striking, even in her atrocious, ill-fitting dress, but she was obviously simple. Grown up concepts would most likely confuse her. What the hell had been going on in this house for the past seventeen years? From his investigative efforts he had learned that Wade Baynum's father had married Maryann's mother when Wade was eight and Maryann ten, that Maryann had been adopted and assumed the Baynum name, and that a younger half-sister had died of pneumonia when she was four, then both of their parents had died within months of each other when Maryann and Wade were eighteen and sixteen respectively. The town had rallied around them, awarding both full-ride scholarships to college. Wade had accepted his scholarship and left Sacramento, returning after obtaining a degree in accounting, but Maryann had remained in town and worked at an exclusive dress shop until two days after her daughter was born. That day she came home from the hospital and never set foot outside the old Victorian house again. Wade Baynum couldn't maintain steady employment, invested in crazy projects with suspect partners, and gambled away their inheritance. Several years ago Bert Keating had hired Maryann to do his books, which she did from her house, supporting herself, her daughter, and her step-brother on a meager salary.

Kay-Kay pulled the scrapbook toward her and flipped the pages until she found what she was looking for. Again that insistent finger of hers compelled Della to look at a photograph. "But you married my Mama. That's how babies happen. See? She has a ring."

Della swallowed a gasp. Staring up at her was the very young, very serious face of Perry Mason, the man with whom she had spent the past eight years working and loving and being happy. Next to him was a beatifically smiling Maryann Baynum, left hand held aloft displaying a plain gold band on her ring finger.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Perry had no memory of the picture in Kay-Kay's scrapbook, which must have been taken by Wade or the Judge's wife, who had acted as a witness. He also had no memory of ever being that young, that serious, or that thin. He knew it was him, but he felt completely disconnected from the image, and especially from the ninety-three days he was married to Maryann. For the past seventeen years he hadn't given one thought to what happened in Sacramento and now this picture yanked him back to a time when morals and friendship had failed him, when sex was an enjoyable but dangerous sport, and the conception of a child could ruin entire families.

To be confronted with the symbol of what he wanted with her but she denied him pierced Della's soul. Her entire bearing radiated misery as she stared at the photograph, unable to look away, her all-consuming love for him still no match for her aversion to an institution she could not embrace. Scattered throughout his past were women who would gladly have married him, but she, the woman he had been with the longest, repeatedly refused him. What if he tired of her rejection and found someone who would give herself to him in the way she simply could not? She existed because he loved her. If she let that love slip away what would she be?

Della's anguish was his own, as awareness that he and his past were the root of what made her tremble settled over him. Maybe he had been too honest with her about Ellen and Laura and the nameless, faceless women who had assuaged his urges over the years. He had never claimed to be a saint, and believed devoutly that each encounter, each relationship, had ultimately allowed him to recognize Della as his destiny literally from the moment he'd laid eyes on her. As strong and practical as she was, as much as he knew she loved him, there were limits to what the human psyche could endure. She had bounced back from her collapse over Kay-Kay, but the visage of Maryann Baynum wearing a wedding ring he had placed on her finger, albeit due to a cruel deceit, just might be her limit.

"Mama was pretty," Kay-Kay said dreamily.

"She still is," Perry assured her automatically, his real attention centered on Della, who gripped the table with white-knuckled torment and continued to stare at the photograph with enormous unblinking eyes. He felt Paul's searing gaze at his back like a knife wound.

"Uncle Wade said I was pretty," Kay-Kay continued. "But he was bad and I have to take his pictures out of my book."

Della straightened abruptly, shook her head, and smoothed down the wrinkles in her skirt caused by the time spent on Perry's lap in the car. "Tell Mr. Mason why you think your Uncle Wade was a bad man, Kay-Kay," she urged gently.

Kay-Kay again flipped pages in the scrapbook until coming across the picture of her uncle she had previously shown Della. "He wanted to hurt my papa – I mean Mr. Mason," she amended. "He wanted to hurt Della too."

Paul had watched Della's visceral reaction to the picture of Perry and Maryann Baynum on their wedding day with intent curiosity, and his disgust with Perry for allowing Della to accompany him to this house deepened. He always wondered why Perry and Della weren't married. Could it be Perry was so soured by his experience with Maryann Baynum that he couldn't face marriage again, not even with Della? "How do you know your uncle wanted to hurt Mr. Mason and Della?" Paul spoke for the first time.

Kay-Kay had no opportunity to answer as the kitchen door swung open and Lieutenant Tragg charged into the room. "I'd be interested in knowing the answer to that myself," he announced loudly.

* * *

><p>Maryann Baynum came up off the couch with tremendous agility for such a large woman. "Persephone Kay," she barked. "What the hell are you doing downstairs?"<p>

Kay-Kay clutched her scrapbook to her chest and shrank against Della, who put a protective arm around the girl. "That cop said I had to come into the parlor. I won't ruin anything, Mama. I promise."

Tragg pushed his way past Perry Mason and Paul Drake into the parlor and turned to face the group he had ordered from the kitchen, over heated protests from all three adults about Kay-Kay's age and the relevance of her statements.

"The Three Musketeers here have a bit of explaining to do," he said to Captain Ingles. "I caught them questioning Miss Baynum's daughter in the kitchen about her uncle."

"We were doing nothing of the sort," Perry denied, highly offended. "We were merely chatting and looking at photographs."

Tragg's regarded the attorney with officious amusement. "Don't go down that road, Counselor. I listened outside the door for several minutes."

"And you heard exactly what I maintain. There was nothing untoward about our conversation."

Tragg turned to Maryann Baynum. "Miss Baynum, how old is your daughter?"

Maryann Baynum seated herself once again on the couch. "She's seventeen, Lieutenant. I know where you're going with that, but you'll be disappointed. My daughter doesn't function at her chronological age."

"How's that?" Captain Ingles interjected.

"She's a simpleton, Captain," Maryann clarified with a yawn. "My life-long punishment for the circumstance of her birth. Go ahead, try to talk to her."

The doorbell rang. Tragg rolled his eyes. "We're going to need a bigger house," he grumbled. "Doris, would you see who's at the door? Thank you."

"Go ahead," Maryann Baynum invited again. "Ask her some questions."

"Are you waiving rights to have an attorney present?" Ingles asked.

"She has the mind of a six-year old," Maryann replied. "Why the hell would a six-year old need an attorney?"

Captain Ingles thoughtfully regarded Kay-Kay Baynum, who was still clinging to Della, obviously distressed by the situation. "Would you answer a few questions for me, young lady?"

"I really have to object to –" Perry began hotly.

"We aren't in court," Tragg cut him off sharply. "And you aren't here in any official capacity. Her mother has given us permission to question the girl, and that's just what we'll do. You were obviously fishing for information from her, so let's all listen to what she has to say."

"Really, Lieutenant," Della said indignantly, "is this necessary?"

"I don't know, Della, you tell me."

Her eyes hardened. "In my opinion, you are being officious, overzealous, and just plain mean-spirited."

"And in my opinion, your protests, coupled with those of your _**boss**_, are nothing but a smokescreen. You don't want us to find out what she's already told you."

"If you were really listening outside the kitchen you would know what she's already told us." Perry wondered if he could slug Tragg for bedeviling Della with the obvious emphasis on the word 'boss' and get away with it on a personal level.

Tragg grinned lopsidedly. "That was my smokescreen," he admitted. "Won't you join us, Mr. Keating?"

Everyone turned as Doris returned with Lambert Keating in tow. "Most decidedly," he responded. "It appears that I've arrived just in time. Am I to understand that Kay-Kay is to be questioned?"

Tragg shoved one hand into his pants pocket and jangled the change contained therein. "Her mother has granted permission for us to determine her level of comprehension and to discover what she's already told Mr. Mason and his associates."

"Well, I certainly protest on Kay-Kay's behalf," Lambert Keating huffed.

"As do I," Perry Mason

"Go stand over by d'Artagnan, Mr. Keating," Captain Ingles directed, pointing to Perry Mason. "You two can mount your own little legal French Revolution."

"d'Artagnan wasn't one of the Three Musketeers," Kay-Kay's tiny voice piped up.

"How's that?" Captain Ingles interjected again.

"d'Artagnon wasn't one of the Three Musketeers," Kay-Kay repeated. "The Three Musketeers were Porthos, Athos, and Aramis."

"I'm Porthos," Paul Drake announced with a delighted grin.

"Shut up, Drake," Tragg snapped.

Della hugged Kay-Kay and caught Perry's eye over the girl's lustrous head of hair. "Atta girl," she praised.

Perry Mason managed to keep a straight face. "Now I ask you Lieutenant, what six-year old knows who the Three Musketeers are, let alone that d'Artagnan wasn't one of them?"

"He died before the French Revolution," Kay-Kay went on.

"Who died?" Captain Ingles asked in slight confusion.

"dar-tan-yon," Kay-Kay answered, carefully pronouncing the name phonetically for the Captain's benefit. "He was dead, so he couldn't be in the French Revolution."

Della nearly choked. Doris smiled behind her hand. Paul Drake continued to grin hugely.

"Don't sass the officers, Kay-Kay," Maryann Baynum ordered sternly.

"I think we've just about exhausted the subject," Tragg stepped back into the conversation, highly regretting likening Mason, Drake, and Della to the Three Musketeers.

"And I think we've determined that the young Miss Baynum definitely functions on a higher level than a six-year old and therefore I contend that she not be questioned without a properly retained attorney present," Perry insisted firmly.

"You can be such a pain in the behind, Mason," Tragg complained. "Okay, we'll do this the hard way and take the young lady down to Headquarters for questioning. We'll petition the court for representation and finally get to what it is she's told you already."

"I don't want to go to court!" Kay-Kay cried out. "I'll be a good girl from now on, I promise. I didn't mean to do anything bad."

Della shushed her. "You didn't do anything bad, sweetie," she soothed. "Mr. Mason wants you to be protected and Lieutenant Tragg isn't cooperating."

Atta girl, Perry thought.

"But I took Aunt Madge's car," Kay-Kay wailed.

Lambert Keating quickly crossed to where Kay-Kay was wrapped in Della's arms and patted her hand. "That's perfectly okay, dear. I said you could drive it around the block whenever you wanted."

"But I drove it to see Uncle Wade," Kay-Kay announced in the same wail.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The only sound in the room was Della's voice, low and comforting, as she held a cowering and distraught Kay-Kay in her arms. Implications and possibilities silenced all present as they struggled to absorb the girl's words, a round robin of glances zinging across the room, eyes seeking confirmation of thoughts not one adult wanted to voice.

"You let her drive a car, Bert? Are you crazy? She can barely tie her own shoes!" Maryann Baynum arose from her couch once again and advanced on Lambert Keating, who stood between her and Kay-Kay.

"I can too tie my shoes," Kay-Kay protested.

"Shut up, Kay-Kay," her mother snarled. "You've said enough."

"On the contrary," Tragg interposed, "I think we need to hear quite a bit more from your daughter, Miss Baynum."

"Over my dead body," Perry Mason stated firmly.

"Don't tempt me, Mason." Tragg took two steps toward Maryann Baynum to restrain her, but she anticipated his move and lunged past Bert Keating, grabbed Della's instinctively out flung arm and twisted.

Della didn't back down in protecting Kay-Kay, enduring excruciating pain as Maryann Baynum's large hand continued to squeeze and bruise as she struggled to bend her arm away from the terrified girl. She locked eyes with the older woman, every ounce of strength in her body channeled into the arm that kept Kay-Kay safe from her mother.

"Don't hurt Della," Kay-Kay begged, still cowering against Della. "Mama, stop!"

"Let go, Maryann." Perry's hand clamped down on Maryann Baynum's forearm, a vice-like tourniquet that instantly cut off blood flow to her fingers. Still she held on, the battle of strength versus will with Della consuming her. She kicked repeatedly at Perry's legs, landing a few vicious knocks to his knee before Tragg wrapped his arm around her neck and yanked her other arm behind her back.

"Let go, Miss Baynum, or your neck might accidentally snap." Tragg tightened his hold for emphasis.

Maryann Baynum bucked and struggled in Tragg's restraining arms, never relinquishing her hold on Della's arm even as her fingers grew cold and white from lack of circulation caused by Perry's torturous grasp. "I have a right to discipline my own child," she snapped. "Tell that woman not to interfere."

"Mama, stop," Kay-Kay whimpered.

Paul Drake stepped into the tangle of arms and legs and pried Maryann Baynum's fingers from Della's arm, receiving a hard kick to his shins for his efforts. As soon as her arm was free, Della curved away from the group, shielding Kay-Kay from her mother, her arm hanging limp and useless, large finger-shaped bruises already beginning to form. Perry released his hold on Maryann and wrapped his arms around both Della and Kay-Kay, adding another layer of protection between the girl and her mother, and calming Della's silent, angry trembling.

Captain Ingles rearranged a few pillows on the settee and gestured toward Perry Mason. "Why don't you bring Miss Street and the girl over here to sit down," he suggested solicitously.

"What is this anyway?" Maryann demanded. "The kid just confessed to murdering Wade and you all act as if _**I'm **_the criminal."

"Maryann," Bert Keating said admonishingly, "Kay-Kay confessed to nothing aside from driving Madge's car to see Wade. She deserves a chance to explain her actions before we jump to any conclusions."

"I've been telling the officers to start asking her questions," Maryann bit out in angry exasperation. "You all think she's so quick on the upbeat, go ahead, question her. I insist."

"Tragg, can't you see that Miss Baynum has no regard for the rights or safety of her daughter?" Perry asked harshly. "Any attorney worth his salt would advise against Miss Baynum allowing her daughter to be questioned, and that same attorney would have everything she says disallowed from any future legal proceedings."

Tragg watched as Mason guided Della and Kay-Kay to the settee, noted the ugly bruises forming on Della's slender arm, how she hovered over Kay-Kay, how she had without thought to her own safety put herself between mother and suffered a painful consequence. She had evidently formed an inexplicable bond with the girl in a short amount of time. It didn't matter that a man had been murdered, and this simple girl appeared to be involved somehow. Della instincts were to protect the girl. But he had to be a cop first, had to follow where evidence led, even if by so doing he lost Della's respect forever and brought down the wrath of her formidable boss.

"You can help me," Kay-Kay announced to Perry Mason, who had raised a hip onto the arm of the settee to be near Della. "You can tell Mama what to do 'cuz you're married."

"Good grief, Kay-Kay, you are so…so… Mr. Mason and I aren't married." Maryann Baynum elbowed Tragg in the ribs in one last defiant protest of being restrained. He grunted but didn't relinquish his hold.

Kay-Kay looked confused. "But I found the picture with the wedding ring."

Maryann Baynum smiled slowly. "Observe what a brilliant star I birthed, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Mason and I were married, Kay-Kay. But he had our marriage annulled two days before you were born. Why don't you tell everyone what 'annulled' means?"

Kay-Kay just looked more confused.

"Do you know what a divorce is, Kay-Kay?" Tragg asked kindly.

"Aunt Madge has one," she replied. "But I never saw it."

"What do you mean Aunt Madge has one?" Bert Keating asked in alarm.

"Well, you told Mama you want one, but Aunt Madge won't give you hers. I think she should share with you because you're married."

Bert Keating pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. "Kay-Kay, have you ever discussed this with Aunt Madge?"

Kay-Kay knitted her brows in concentration. "I don't know," she admitted. "Do you want I should ask her?"

Della's sadness was palpable as Kay-Kay's limitations were revealed. She might be bright enough to know who d'Artagnan was and when he lived in reference to the French Revolution, but the concepts of marriage and divorce were obviously beyond her ken. Whether it was due to some mental deficiency or to her isolated, negligent upbringing would likely be determined by professionals in the near future. Perry squeezed Della's shoulder comfortingly.

Wincing, Della reached her injured arm up to Perry and hooked her finger in his shirt placket between buttons, pulling him down to her. "Stop her, Perry," Della whispered helplessly. "She's just a child."

Perry buried his lips in the curls above her ear. "I wish I could, Della. Short of petitioning as an advocate, there's nothing I can do."

"Kay-Kay," Tragg said, ignoring the vignette on the settee, "When did you drive the car to see your Uncle Wade?"

Kay-Kay shrugged. "A few days ago. Uncle Wade called to talk to Mama but she had a spell and took some medicine. She doesn't like me to wake her up after she takes her medicine." She dropped her head to Della's shoulder. "I forgot to tell Mama he called."

Maryann Baynum rolled her eyes. "You useless little – "

"Be quiet!" Tragg barked. "I'm granting your wish and talking to your daughter, much to the displeasure of esteemed counsel over there. Unless you have a specific objection or don't want me to continue questioning, then I suggest you say nothing."

"I have a specific objection to being held in this headlock," Maryann Baynum grumbled. "Isn't it indignity enough that my daughter is an imbecile and that she killed my brother?"

Kay-Kay lifted her head to stare at Tragg with enormous eyes. "I killed Uncle Wade? I didn't mean to. He was being mean. I didn't want him to hurt nobody."

"Kay-Kay, where did you drive the car to?" Tragg maintained his hold on Maryann Baynum.

"To the school. Nobody's at school in the summer time. I don't go to school."

"What school?"

Kay-Kay shrugged. "The one I don't go to."

"It must be the high school that is four blocks from my house," Bert Keating offered in a nervous voice. "That would be the school Kay-Kay would attend. I've taken her there to practice driving in the parking lot."

"And the surprises just keep on coming," Maryann Baynum exclaimed. "How long has Kay-Kay been sneaking out and visiting with you and Madge, Bert?"

Lambert Keating mopped at his forehead again. "For several years now, Maryann. Kay-Kay has been good for Madge."

"Several years? Why don't I know about this?"

"Because she only comes over when you are passed out after taking your _**medicine**_."

Maryann Baynum flushed bright red in angry embarrassment. "I can't believe no one told me about this."

"And I can't believe you have interrupted my questioning again," Tragg interjected pointedly. "Everyone just keep their thoughts to themselves until I'm done speaking with young Miss Baynum."

"Aunt Madge gives me money for the movies," Kay-Kay said brightly. "She likes when I tell her about the movies 'cuz she can't go. Bad ticker, you know."

Della and Perry smiled at the tidbit imparted about Madge Keating, likely overheard in conversations between the adults in her closeted world.

"Can I please sit down, Lieutenant?" Maryann Baynum whined. "I promise not to touch the lovely Miss Street again."

Tragg pondered her plea for a moment before relaxing his arm from around her neck and allowing her to resume her seat on the couch. She rearranged the belt of the robe around her curvy waist and sat back to regard her daughter with glittering, suspicious eyes.

"Now, Kay-Kay, you drove Mrs. Keating's car to the high school and met your Uncle Wade," Tragg picked up his questioning once again.

Kay-Kay nodded vigorously. "He wanted some papers. He said mean things about my – about Mr. Mason and his secretary – that's Della. Uncle Wade told me he was going to get a lot of money or he would hit Mr. Mason where it hurts. I know where that is." She nodded knowingly.

Paul Drake choked back a burst of laughter. It was difficult not to be charmed by Kay-Kay and her guilelessness, despite the situation.

"What papers? Did you give them to your uncle?"

Kay-Kay hugged her scrapbook with curvy, feminine arms. "Just some papers."

"Did you read those papers, Kay-Kay?"

The girl's lip began to tremble in an unconscious confession. "He was going to hurt Mr. Mason. I didn't want him to hurt nobody. Mama says Mr. Mason is my papa, but Della says he's not."

Maryann Baynum sat forward quickly. "Couldn't wait, could you?" She fluttered her hand at Della. "Did you even introduce yourself before destroying my daughter's lifelong beliefs?"

"As if you care," Della replied acidly. Perry spanned the back of her neck with his hand, the slight pressure cautioning her to control her temper.

"She's thought Perry was her father her entire life," Maryann Baynum went on heatedly. "How dare you come into my house and –"

"And tell her a bit of the truth?" Della challenged the older woman's ire.

"Della," Perry spoke chidingly. "When you get in a pissing fight with a skunk…"

Maryann Baynum frowned disdainfully at Perry Mason. "To think I once married you."

"I don't think about it," he retorted with cruel offhandedness.

Maryann flushed brightly once more, two blazing red patches across prominent cheekbones. "I'm beginning to think that if you had kept your promise to love, honor, and cherish and not abandoned me, Kay-Kay would have brought destruction to you instead of Wade. You're a pain."

"Everyone shut the hell up!" Tragg ordered. "Not another word from anyone until I say so." He cleared his throat authoritatively. "Now Kay-Kay, what did you do to your uncle?"

Kay-Kay fretted with the ragged hem of her pitiful dress. "His tie was untied. I can tie knots real good. Uncle Wade always let me tie his ties."

"Did you do something to your uncle with his tie?"

"Tragg, don't lead the girl," Perry admonished.

The girl nodded miserably. "I pulled the ends and made him cough. He didn't like it. But I didn't want him to hurt nobody, so I didn't let go. Not until he stopped coughing."

"Oh Kay-Kay," Della whispered tearfully, covering the girl's hand with her own to stop the constant fretting.

"Perhaps I should take over the questioning at this point," Captain Ingles suggested, "as it appears Mr. Baynum met his demise under my jurisdiction."

"What did you do when he stopped coughing?" Tragg ignored the Captain's suggestion. He was sick with regret that he had chosen to question the girl, and that his judgment had been so off-kilter. He wasn't the kind of cop to coerce confessions or badger suspects, but he had charged forth with questioning a seventeen year old girl of suspect mental acuity as if she were a normally functioning adult. There was no going back, even if as Mason maintained, everything she said would eventually be disallowed.

"He was asleep. I took the papers, the ones that said bad things about Mr. Mason and Della, and put them in my book."

"Then you drove the car back to Mr. Keating's house?"

"Don't lead her," Perry interposed again.

"Shut up. We're not in court." Tragg never took his eyes from Kay-Kay's pale face.

"I did drive back to Uncle Bert's," Kay-Kay confirmed. "Aunt Madge made cookies. I ate three. Did I really hurt Uncle Wade?"

"It could be," Tragg replied gently. "You said he was asleep when you left. Was he breathing? Was his chest going up and down?" He placed his hand on his chest to demonstrate.

Kay-Kay nodded. "Yeah." She turned to Bert Keating. "Did he wake up when you and the lady talked to him?"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Lambert Keating mopped furiously at his face, his handkerchief ineffectual in staunching the flow of flop sweat that had broken out at Kay-Kay's words. "Whatever do you mean, Kay-Kay? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Tell us about the lady, Kay-Kay," Captain Ingles requested.

"Yes Kay-Kay, tell us about the lady," her mother urged. She glanced at Bert Keating with frosty suspicion.

"She has white hair and long red fingernails." Kay-Kay gave her habitual shrug. "She's pretty from far away, but up close I don't like her."

"Do you know the lady's name?" Tragg asked.

Kay-Kay shrugged. "Uncle Wade called her Vicky. She came over once and Uncle Wade took her for a drive 'cuz Mama was sleeping. I answered the door."

"Vicky!" Maryann Baynum exploded. "What idiot moved the rock she lives under?"

A vague memory nudged at Perry Mason. A well-endowed woman with platinum blonde hair, deep red lipstick, pointed fingernails painted to match her mouth. Vicky. Victoria Chapman. She had been part of Wade and Maryann's social group, the group into which he had been thrust after taking up residence with the Baynum's, the group with whom alcohol and marijuana flowed freely several nights a week at the big Victorian house, the group among whom romantic partners were shared liberally. It was after one such gathering that he had succumbed to Maryann's blatant seduction for the first time, awakening in his bed with Maryann, with a certainty about what had transpired, but without a clear memory of it. Maryann later claimed it was the night she conceived her child.

"I remember her," he spoke aloud. "She dated Wade a few times."

"She dated _**everybody**_ a few times," Maryann said caustically.

Bert Keating stiffened visibly. "You did a fair amount of dating yourself, Maryann," he charged ungallantly.

"I couldn't hold a candle to her," she retorted. "What is she doing back in town? And more importantly, what are you doing – " she suddenly broke off and stared at Bert Keating in horror. "She's behind all of this, isn't she? She was the only other person who knew I was pregnant before I met Perry. Wade didn't think up this scheme with _Spicy Bits_ himself. Does she want more money, Bert? Is she pinching you again, too?"

Bert Keating raised himself to his full stocky height of five feet nine inches and adjusted his silk bow tie. "I will say nothing more without the benefit of counsel," he proclaimed with all the dignity he could muster.

* * *

><p>The deeper one dove into the circumstances surrounding Wade Baynum's murder, the more complicated and confusing it became, a train wreck of shame and deceit, each rail car revealing another secret as the rescue effort progressed. Doris, the police stenographer, flexed her overworked fingers and quietly pointed out to Captain Ingles that she had only a few pages left in her steno pad.<p>

"You insufferable coward," Maryann Baynum spat at Lambert Keating. "You stood there and let Kay-Kay incriminate herself…but that was on purpose wasn't it? You wanted what she did to divert attention from what you did. Did you kill Wade?"

"Why don't you ask Kay-Kay," Lambert Keating challenged. "I'm sure the testimony of a simple child will carry so much more weight than mine."

"I don't know what Uncle Bert did," Kay-Kay offered. "I went the wrong way and had to turn around. I saw him running to Uncle Wade's car when I drove by. The lady was standing on the curb. I waved."

"You are the biggest piece of crap, Bert," Maryann Baynum proclaimed. "Letting everyone think Kay-Kay killed Wade."

Tragg and Perry Mason exchanged glances. Both were content to allow Lambert Keating and Maryann Baynum to talk, as both had formed a similar theory that begged confirmation. If allowed to snipe at one another long enough, the true events of the night Wade Baynum was murdered could be revealed by the attorney and his bookkeeper.

"Kay-Kay," Perry Mason spoke, "do you know anything more about that night? Did you see anything else?"

Kay-Kay shook her head. "I ate three cookies with Aunt Madge and walked home. Mama was still asleep."

Lambert Keating mopped at his face with the sodden handkerchief. The atmosphere in the parlor had changed from dismay over Kay-Kay's account of her actions with Wade Baynum to overt hostility toward him. "I shall continue to refuse to answer questions without first consulting an attorney. I insist that I be allowed to retain an attorney of my choosing this instant. "

"You're such a prig, Bert," Maryann Baynum said flatly.

Tragg bowed slightly. "By all means, Mr. Keating, you will be allowed to retain an attorney. But you will be making the call from Police Headquarters. We're through with this dog-and-pony show as of this moment."

* * *

><p>Captain Ingles radioed Headquarters for a representative from juvenile services to be dispatched to the Baynum home, and for a warrant to be issued for one Victoria Chapman in connection with the murder of Wade Baynum. Ingles remained outside, smoking with Paul Drake and Doris, while Perry, Della, and Tragg held down the fort inside. Kay-Kay was frightened and distraught at the thought of being taken to Headquarters in a police car and continued to cling to Della for all she was worth, to the undisguised disgust of her mother.<p>

Maryann Baynum refused to allow Perry or Della to accompany her daughter to Headquarters, refused to retain an attorney, and vehemently refused to leave the crumbling Victorian house. Her agoraphobia a well-documented fact, any further questioning would be carried out within the confines of her home. But her daughter required professional evaluation, her story official documentation and thorough questioning if it was determined she possessed the ability to understand her actions and their import. Tragg and Perry Mason were convinced she had merely choked Wade Baynum into unconsciousness with his tie in her effort to convince him to not 'hurt nobody', but it would be up to investigators and the District Attorney to arrive at the sequence of events that led up to the man's demise.

No amount of sensible talk or cajoling could change Maryann's mind about allowing someone Kay-Kay knew to accompany her to Headquarters. She seemed unconcerned with her daughter's plight, and kept up a constant litany of complaints about how badly she had been treated during the recently concluded ordeal in her parlor. She made Lieutenant Tragg promise that neither Perry nor Della were to be allowed near her daughter once she was remanded to the juvenile officer.

When the car containing a representative of the juvenile justice system of Sacramento arrived, Kay-Kay attached herself to Della and cried hysterically. Her mother offered no comfort, showed no remorse or sadness over the girl's distress, and seemed relieved to have her removed from the house. It was Perry and Tragg who pulled Kay-Kay gently from Della's embrace and escorted her outside to the waiting automobile, tucked protectively between them as she continued to weep for Della or her Mama to come with her.

As Kay-Kay's cries faded with distance, Maryann Baynum turned and studied Della with acidic antipathy. "You're really quite impressed with yourself, aren't you? Secretary to a famous attorney, your picture in the paper all the time, cops and detectives falling at your feet, your boss wrapped around your delicate little finger. You're no better than anyone else, Princess."

"You're fee to think about me what you wish, Miss Baynum, but it's Kay-Kay you should be concerned about right now."

"You make me sick," Maryann sniffed. "Be honest. You didn't know about me or about my marriage to Perry. This is tearing you apart, yet there you stand, so prim and proper, when you and I both know you're neither. The fact that Kay-Kay isn't Perry's makes you very happy and self-satisfied, doesn't it?"

Della studied Maryann Baynum with deeply sad eyes. "You couldn't be more wrong," she said quietly. "I wish to God Kay-Kay was Perry's daughter. Because if she was, we would have taken her from you years ago."

Maryann Baynum blinked, her bravado shaken for a split second. "As if I would let the likes of you raise my daughter."

"You wouldn't have had any say in the matter." Della and smoothed down her skirt for something to occupy shaking hands. "Perry is a very good attorney."

"No court would award a child to a man and his mistress," Maryann Baynum hissed.

"If Perry was Kay-Kay's father, current reality would not exist." Della blinked rapidly several times. "You were given a precious gift, Miss Baynum, despite the circumstances, and you spurned it. You may think of Kay-Kay as the 'destroyer of all', but it's no one's fault but your own that you'll be all alone in this rotting house from this day forward."

She turned to leave, took a few steps, then stopped. "Miss Baynum," she said without facing the older woman. "Was your step-brother really Kay-Kay's father, or is Bert Keating her father? And did he want a divorce so he could marry you?"

Maryann Baynum was silent, unable to answer. Della finally turned back to meet the coldest, bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"And yet you stand in judgment of my life choices," she said.

* * *

><p>Perry Mason was standing at the curb beside his automobile, watching the unmarked police car drive away with Kay-Kay Baynum. She had not calmed one iota on the long walk from the house to the waiting police car, and it had nearly killed him to disengage the death grip she had on his hand so that the juvenile authorities could take custody of her. He found himself wiping his eyes as Tragg settled the hysterical girl in the car, her arms outstretched toward him imploringly, her childish, heartbreaking apologies and promises to be good and not 'ruin' anything ever again finally muffled by the closing of the door. Without embarrassment of any sort, the two men stood back and regarded each other with obvious tears staining their cheeks.<p>

"I'll make sure she's okay," Tragg assured him in a choked voice. He took off toward his own automobile, jumped behind the wheel, gunned the engine to life, and pulled away from the curb in pursuit of the unmarked Sacramento police car.

He didn't hear Della approach from behind, but wasn't startled one little bit when she slid her arms around his waist and settled herself virtually in his armpit. He hugged her close and rested his chin on the top of her head, his hands caressing her back more to soothe himself than her.

"I would have taken her from Maryann if she had been mine," he said, his blue eyes weary and tormented as he continued to stare after the police car.

Della reached up and trailed gentle fingers across his cheek, wiping away a lingering tear.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Perry and Della were silently wrapped in their thoughts as the big car cruised through the quiet residential neighborhood surrounding the sad and decrepit Baynum house. Perry had mentioned dropping in on Madge Keating to see if there was anything they could do for her, but the sheer exhaustion reflected in Della's eyes and his fervent wish to beat a hasty retreat from Sacramento steered the car back toward the Grand Fowler hotel.

"I know you want to leave as soon as possible, Perry," Della spoke suddenly, "but would you mind if we stayed one more night? I just want food, a bath, and bed."

"In that specific order?" Perry smiled slightly. "How about we have a bath, order sandwiches from room service, and then tuck each other into bed?"

Della tilted her head back against the seat cushion and yawned. "If the bath includes a bottle of wine, I'll agree to that plan."

She was asleep by the time Perry pulled the car up the entrance of the Grand Fowler. Bruised, exhausted, and emotionally drained, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld. He would never tire of looking at her, and constantly marveled at how much more beautiful she became every year as she gracefully moved through adulthood. He leaned over and kissed one incredibly sculpted cheekbone tenderly. "Wake up, my beauty," he whispered. "Time for your bath."

She stirred and her eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry. I couldn't stay awake."

Perry climbed out of the car and handed the keys to the valet, trotted around the back of the car to assist Della, who had flung open the door and was poised to slide to the ground. Her yellow dress was limp and wrinkled, still damp from Kay-Kay's tears, but she could have cared less, and didn't even bother to shake out the skirt as was her habit. She might give the dress away after today. It would hold too many memories for her to bear.

They entered the hotel arm-in-arm, splitting off as Perry headed to the lounge for a bottle of wine and Della continued upstairs to draw the bath she hoped would wash away some of the sadness of the day.

* * *

><p>Perry impatiently stood at the bar while the waitress opened the bottle of red wine and wordlessly handed him two bulbous stemmed glasses. He then ordered grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup to be delivered to the room in no less than two hours and eschewed the elevator for the stairs to the fourth floor, taking them two and three at a time.<p>

Della had left the door open a crack. He elbowed it open, then closed it with his foot as quietly as possible. The room was already becoming moist from the hot water he could still hear running in the bathroom. He placed the wine bottle and glasses on a dresser and pulled his suitcase from beneath the bed. After rummaging around in an interior pocket for a moment, he emerged with a small nearly threadbare velvet box, which he dropped into his pants pocket. After re-gathering the bottle of wine and the glasses, he walked across to the bathroom and tapped lightly on the door before entering the steam-filled room.

Della was already in the tub, eyes closed, luxuriating in the comforting warmth of the lavender scented water. He admired her for a moment in the oversize cast-iron tub, and then poured a generous amount of wine into both of the glasses. "Your wine, my love," he said with quiet tenderness.

She reached out one hand without opening her eyes. "I needed this," she sighed.

He seated himself on the commode and sipped his wine. "You could swim laps in that tub," he observed.

She smiled, still with her eyes closed. "It's so deep I keep floating to the surface. I need an anchor."

He stood and with great alacrity removed his clothes, leaving them in a jumbled heap on the floor and stepped into the fragrant, steaming water. She scooted forward so he could lower himself to sit behind her. When he was settled, he pulled her back against his chest, cradled between his long legs. "Mmmm," she purred, "even better."

"I think I'll remodel my apartment bathroom," he commented, brushing damp curls from her forehead and kissing her softly.

She laughed deep in her throat as she took a sip of wine. "You say that every time you give me a bath at the lake house." She slid her bruised arm over his where it rested on the top of the cast iron tub and stretched languidly. He rotated his arm and caught her hand in his, utterly fascinated by the difference in their shape and size.

"Does your arm hurt? Did you take an aspirin?" The ugly blue bruises would be a reminder of everything that had happened over the past few days for many days to come, and every time he looked at them he would curse himself for the pain she'd endured, for the emotional abuses she'd suffered because he'd hidden the truth about Maryann Baynum from her.

She lolled her head from side to side on his chest. "It doesn't hurt much right now. I'll be stiff tomorrow, but nothing I can't handle. How about your knee? She got off a couple of good kicks at you."

"Paul will be suffering more than me," he told her. They were silent while each sipped their wine. "I'm sorry Della."

"You should be."

"I don't deserve you."

"Probably not, but you're stuck with me."

He took her wine glass and placed it on the commode. She protested when he sat up and reached over the side of the tub, searching the pile of his clothes for his pants. When he settled back into the tub and she was once again nestled against his chest, he presented the small velvet box.

Her eyes opened wide in alarm and she gasped. "Perry, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he replied. "It's Lyla's. I want you to have it. _**She**_ wanted you to have it."

Della's heart beat painfully fast in her chest. Lyla. The mother he had adored, the mother she wished deeply she could have met, the mother who had died quickly, tragically, while he was in Mexico on vacation with Laura Cavanaugh. "How could she have wanted me to have it? I never met her."

"She wanted it to go to the woman I loved with all my heart, the woman I chose to spend my life with." He flipped open the hinged lid with one finger and revealed what his mother had given him for the woman he would someday marry. "She gave it to me after I was discharged and told me to choose wisely, that the ring was precious to her. It belonged to her grandmother, then her mother, and eventually her. She was an only child, with two sons, and she chose me as guardian of her most precious possession."

Della could barely breathe. The emerald ring in the box was – what else – an emerald cut set in platinum, with baguette diamonds in two tiers on either side of the two-carat center stone. It was mesmerizingly beautiful in its simplicity, the stone a flawless, brilliant green aglow with a life of its own.

"The setting was fragile and no jeweler could repair it, so I had it reset seven years ago with some of the metal from the original ring." Perry's free arm circled her waist beneath the warm water and held her tightly against him. "I've brought it with me on every vacation, on every weekend getaway, and to every holiday celebration for the past seven years, waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you." He paused to take a deep breath. "This is it. This is the moment you needed to see this ring and know that you are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me."

"Perry." His name floated on expelled breath, a sound that for years had aroused in him a desire so consuming, he truly thought he might expire from his release.

"Not Ellen, not Maryann, and not Laura. Just you, Della Street. This ring belongs to you to wear or leave in a drawer. That's your choice. My choice is to give it to you and to love you for the rest of my life."

Della twisted in his arms quickly, causing water to splash over the sides of the tub, soaking the pile of clothing scattered across the floor. Her mouth sought his desperately, as her hands stroked up his torso to come to rest on either side of his face. Her tongue attacked, withdrew, attacked again, while her slick and feminine body stretched its length against his equally slick but decidedly masculine body. He let her kiss him, accepted her assault, encouraged her with whispered words of love and moans of escalating desire.

She sat up suddenly, lips bruised and swollen, eyes a smoldering mix of green and brown, body quivering with a deep hunger for him. "Give me the ring," she commanded, holding out her left hand.

Perry plucked the ring from its ancient velvet nest and tossed the empty box to the floor. Della waggled her fingers impatiently. He slowly slid the emerald onto the ring finger of her left hand. "I will love you the rest of my life, Della. All I ask is that you let me love you for however long that might be."

She studied the ring on her finger, her breathing shallow with a love so overwhelming it was almost painful. "I love you," she said clearly, the strength of her voice surprising to her ears. "Now get out of the tub."

He laughed at her frantic efforts to dry herself, to dry him, to hurry them to the bed because she most certainly _**did not**_ consider a hotel bathroom floor a proper place to be pleasured. They tripped over and became tangled in their discarded clothing, too intent upon kissing and touching and anticipating to pay much attention to the obstacles in the path to their goal of the reaching the bed before he took her against the wall or she quickly got over her aversion the floor.

The sheets were cool and the mattress soft as Perry sank down beneath her, guiding her over the blatant manifestation of his need, moaning in unbridled ecstasy as she accepted him in the most intimate manner possible between a man and a woman. She rode him in a controlled frenzy of need, time and again bringing them to the brink of indescribable gratification only to postpone the ultimate release until she nearly lost her mind and finally allowed them to simultaneously peak, swallowing both of their cries with kisses so deep she felt lost in him.

Later, much, much later, after wolfing down grilled cheese sandwiches dunked in tomato soup and indulging in more loving, he lay curled over her as she slept with a supremely sated smile on her lips. His hand rested on his mother's ring, the perfect ornament for her elegant hand. He didn't want to sleep, didn't want to be unaware of her for one moment, because he knew in the morning she wouldn't be returning to the lake house with him.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"You look like hell."

Lieutenant Arthur Tragg should have been surprised to find Paul Drake sprawled across one of the beds in the hotel room, but for some reason it made sense to his weary mind. "I feel like hell," he admitted tersely, closing the door behind him. He flicked on the bathroom light, shrugged out of his suit coat and hung it on the hook attached to the door. After playing with the sink faucet until the water temperature was to his liking, he splashed water on his face, then stood with hands braced on either side of the sink, dejectedly contemplating his dripping countenance in the mirror for a moment before yanking a clean towel from the rack and thoroughly wetting it.

"How did you get in here?" Tragg emerged from the bathroom, kicked off his shoes, sat on the edge of the second bed, draped the wrung-out towel over his face, and fell backward onto the mattress.

"Trade secret," Paul Drake answered, lighting a cigarette.

"You seduced the maid." Tragg's voice was muffled beneath the towel.

"Seduced is such an unattractive word," Drake complained. "I prefer the word 'charmed'."

"I'm revoking your license the minute I get back to Los Angeles."

"Kay-Kay got to all of us, Tragg."

Tragg lifted one edge of the towel and eyed Paul Drake suspiciously. The expression on his face reminded Tragg of a kicked puppy. "Some cases are tougher than others," he agreed dully, and escaped behind the towel once more.

"She didn't kill her uncle, did she?"

"Probably not," Tragg replied enigmatically.

"I'll beat it out of you if I have to," Drake told him wearily, "but I'd really rather not."

"Previous animosities aside, what makes you think I owe you any information? You're the super-sleuth. Dig up the information yourself." His intention had been to escape to the hotel room for some much needed quiet time and begin the process of trying to forget everything that had happened in the past few days with a shower and a whole lot of alcohol. It would be a long time before the memory of Kay-Kay Baynum's screams would be quiet enough for him to sleep peacefully. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about it with Paul Drake.

"I was going to offer to pay for dinner," Drake coaxed. "Maybe even cocktails."

"That's mighty generous of you, considering you'll just expense it to Mason."

Paul Drake barked a laugh. "I could try, but Della would nix it on principle. She has a tight hold on Perry's purse strings."

"Among other things," Tragg commented dryly.

Paul kicked the mattress of Tragg's bed. "What the hell was that crack?"

"I know why you're in my room and not down the hall commiserating with your associates. I've gotten a glimpse of a bit more than I wanted to the past few days."

"Just so you know, Tragg, that little gal is a true lady, the finest specimen of womanhood I've ever met. Speak respectfully or don't speak at all."

Tragg sighed. "Mason's already filled me in on the penalty for messing with Della. I plan to keep my liver."

"I'll reach lower on you," Drake warned ominously.

Tragg raised the edge of the towel once more. "Out of respect for Della, if anyone asks about their relationship, my response will be 'what relationship?'."

Drake smoked in silence for a several seconds. "So, you're going to tell me what went on down at Headquarters, right?" He stubbed his cigarette in the half-full ashtray on the bedside table. "Purely out of respect for Della, of course."

"If I had the energy, I'd shoot you," Tragg declared. "Will it make you happy if I tell you that Kay-Kay Baynum did not kill her uncle?"

"Not as much as if you tell me that Lambert Keating did."

Tragg rubbed the wet towel over his face in a vigorous massage, tossed it aside, and sat up. "He sang like a little birdy the instant they sat him down in the interrogation room. Waived his rights and laid it all on the table. Wade Baynum was blackmailing him as well, threatening to tell the truth about what happened seventeen years ago because he had thrown Maryann over for another woman. He took advantage of Baynum being incapacitated by Kay-Kay and finished him off. Then he and his girlfriend Vicky drove to Los Angeles and left the car with Baynum's body in it behind the building where Spicy Bits has offices." He rolled his shoulders and moved his head from side to side, loosening tight, tired muscles. "Keating is Kay-Kay's father, not Wade Baynum, although he could have been. Mason was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and played right into their hands. Somehow I just can't imagine that guy ever being so naïve."

"Alcohol and hormones have ruined more men than naïveté," Drake commented. "Maryann Baynum must have been something else back then. She's a heckuva lot of woman."

Tragg unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, then reached down and pulled off his socks. "Not my type," he said with a yawn.

"You need to broaden your horizons, Tragg. Some of the greatest experiences of my life have been with women I thought weren't my type."

Tragg threw him a disgusted look. "My horizons are plenty broad, thank you. But speaking of broads, have you ever met the owner of _Spicy Bits_? Eva Belter?"

Drake snorted derisively. "I have had the distinct displeasure. There is only one woman on the planet worse than her."

"She's quite attractive," Tragg stated casually. "Oozes breeding and class."

Drake regarded Tragg with shocked disbelief. "I thought cops had better instincts than that. She's a lying, cheating, conniving, back-stabbing female dog in heat. She pulled Perry through a ringer like no client before or since, even though in the end he got the better of her."

"I met her today. Wade Baynum saw an opportunity to capitalize on Mason's celebrity and his mysterious personal life to solve his problems. He read about her case in Kay-Kay's scrapbook and contacted her."

"Eva Belter is in Sacramento? You actually spoke with her?" Drake sat forward from the nest of pillows he had been reclining against. "Did she feed you a story about being duped by Keating and Baynum?"

She had done just that, her eyes wide and innocent, her mouth puckered in a tiny pout, until Tragg told her she was a bit long in the tooth to adopt such a baby-faced expression. With a few carefully crafted threats he secured the original of not only Wade Baynum's interview, but of the photo she was shopping to the highest bidder of Mason and Della kissing beneath the lamppost, as well as a signed statement that she would publish neither. But he wasn't about to admit that to Drake. "She was gracious and cooperative, a perfect lady. She feels great regret for her part in the scheme to shake down Mason and willingly quashed publication of the interview." A bald-faced lie.

"Eva Belter regrets nothing and never willingly does anything that won't ultimately benefit her own interests." Drake snuggled back against the pillows. "Either you fell for her and she made a chump out of you, or you threatened her with prosecution unless she turned over everything."

Tragg remained silent, staring down at his toes. "Doesn't matter at this point," he said heavily. "What matters is that Kay-Kay didn't kill her uncle and will get the help she needs." He stood up and disappeared into the bathroom, emerging presently with a manila envelope. "I'll be back in a few."

Drake sat up again. "Don't go down there, Tragg. They don't need to see or hear anyone but themselves right now."

Tragg hesitated at the door for a few seconds, knowing that Drake was right. Della would be at Mason's side whether he felt the lawyer deserved her or not. He could spend his life longing for her, knowing that she held nothing in her heart for him but disappointment, any respect she may have had for him destroyed by his behavior today. Or he could make her happy and ease his conscience at the same time.

He opened the door and stepped barefoot into the hallway.

* * *

><p>Perry Mason answered the door after a solid minute of knocking, opening it only as far as the security chain allowed and regarding Tragg with one annoyed eye. He had known it was Tragg and had tried to ignore the insistent tapping as it grew in volume, causing Della to sigh and restlessly shift in his arms. When it became apparent the Lieutenant wasn't going away anytime soon, he had carefully unwound his arms from her sleeping form and wrapped a discarded towel around his waist.<p>

"Early to bed, early to rise?" Tragg quipped. It wasn't even seven o'clock in the evening. He couldn't see much through the crack, but it was apparent that Mason was dressed in nothing but a towel, and that there were no lights on in the room.

"Della's exhausted," Mason said curtly through the crack. "What do you want?"

I want people to stop killing other people, Tragg thought crankily. I want big-shot attorneys to stay in their offices so I can do my job properly. I want Kay-Kay Baynum to never have to go back to that horrible house. I want a shower and clean clothes and a huge steak well done. I want a good hunting dog. But mostly, I want your woman.

"I have a present for Della," he said instead, pushing the envelope through the gap between the jamb and the door. When all Mason would do was stare suspiciously at it he grew impatient. "Take it, damn it."

Mason opened the envelope and pulled out an eight-by-ten print and a negative of a tall man with dark hair in a dark suit passionately kissing a slender dark-haired woman in a white sundress. Anyone who had met either himself or Della would be able to recognize them readily. He sucked in a breath. "Tragg," he began, and stopped, at a complete loss for words.

"Don't say anything, Mason," Tragg told him. "I don't want thanks, not from you, and especially not from Della. As far as you're concerned, this envelope was slipped under the door by some anonymous do-gooder."

"I can't keep any more secrets from Della," Mason said. "I'll have to tell her where this came from."

The two men contemplated their dilemma for a moment.

"Tell her if you must," Tragg finally said. "She deserves her privacy, and I'm glad I was able to give it to her."

"So am I."

"That's dangerously close to a thank-you," Tragg pointed out with irritation. "I'm not suddenly your best friend, Mason, even though Della thinks we should be. I respect what you do, and I expect you to respect what I do. I've made it plain that I envy you with regard to Della, but that's my problem. Maybe someday I can set aside that envy and we can have a couple of beers at Flanagan's, but right now I just want you to go away."

"Wish granted. I'm going to the lake house tomorrow. I won't be back in Los Angeles for another week," Mason told him.

Tragg gave a curt nod, turned on his bare heel, and marched down the hall. "By the way, Paul Drake is taking me to dinner tonight and expensing it to you," he tossed over his shoulder.

* * *

><p>Della melted into the comfort of his embrace as he slid back beneath the covers, her mouth seeking his in a blazing kiss, her hands pulling his hips in alignment with hers as they lay on their sides facing one another.<p>

"You're awake," he stated the obvious when she pulled away to catch her breath.

"Cops visiting in the middle of the night tend to wake me up," she replied.

He laughed. "It's barely dinner time, darling. We've been in bed all afternoon." He gasped as her hand encountered a particularly sensitive area on his responsive body.

"What did he want?" She ducked her head to watch with wide eyes the fascinating results of her ministrations.

"He brought a present for you." Oh Lord, where did she learn to do _**that**_?

"That was nice of him." She shifted slightly, brought one leg up over his hip and rolled beneath him. Her mouth found his once again and wantonly explored its familiar depths. "I'm going home tomorrow," she whispered raggedly against his lips.

He eased into her softness, Heaven on Earth. "I know." He focused his willpower not to take her with delirious abandon, primeval passion alive in every cell of his body.

"I love you." Her breath was hot against his neck, her tongue a wicked instrument of torture.

"I love you more."

"Not possible." She urged his hips into a satisfying rhythm, tiny gasping sighs punctuating his restrained movements.

"You wouldn't be leaving if I didn't love you more."

Her hands left his backside and settled on either side of his face, holding it still above her. "That's not fair," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Don't run away from me, Della."

His deep voice held a helpless sadness that nearly undid her. She loved him, dear Lord she loved him more than she thought it possible to love another human being, almost more than her heart could bear right now. She was aware of how much it pained him when she turned into herself and wouldn't allow him to help with whatever tortured her. He always listened to her and tried to understand, tried to say the right words in his capacity as her boss, her best friend, or her lover, whichever had committed the infraction. This time all three had hurt or disappointed her in some way and none of them could fix what the others had done.

She pulled her legs up and encircled his hips. "Love me," she implored, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Love me and let me do what I have to do."

As her sad tears morphed into sobs of pleasure, Perry was reminded just how easy it was to love Della.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Paul did a masterful job hiding both his hangover and his surprise at Perry's request to drive Della back to Los Angeles. Tragg had left noisily at daybreak, interrupting a particularly vivid dream about the woman he had been forced to abandon on his vacation, and he had just dozed off again when Perry knocked on the door. Abandoning plans to continue his dream, Paul promised to be downstairs in an hour to load up Della's luggage and head for Los Angeles. Perry had nodded in tight-lipped agreement, hesitancy in his demeanor begging questions that Paul peevishly didn't want to ask. He knew Perry and Della had been intimately involved for at least six years, after two years of dancing around one another, but not once in those years had either of them completely trusted him with much insight into their romance, certainly not as much as Tragg had been witness to in the past few days. Give that man enough scotch and all reticence flew out the window.

Tragg hadn't told him anything he didn't already suspect or outright know for fact, but that the Lieutenant had actually been allowed a front-row seat to view the private life of the two people he considered his best friends stung a bit. Perry had always been discreet about his involvement with women, never joining in the male gripe sessions when out with "the boys" – the group of men Perry had known from the service or from college and law school, before his success and notoriety – and since Della's arrival on the scene guarded his privacy even more. When Perry first included Della in their activities, she had been introduced as his secretary and it had been assumed she was fair game, simply a convenient companion after the break-up of his relationship with Laura Cavanaugh, until the mistletoe incident seven years ago made it obvious their old friend had more than a professional interest in the delectable Miss Street.

Perry and Della were already out front loading her luggage into the trunk of Paul's inconvenient sports car when Paul appeared on the scene with his garment bag and small satchel in tow. Della looked young and sassy in tight capri pants and a short-sleeved cotton twinset, flat shoes, and a scarf draped casually around her neck, but her stance was decidedly tense, her face a blank mask. Perry was every bit as tense, his expression as blank as Della's, and he couldn't seem to stop touching her. Light touches, reassuring touches, gentle caresses that told Paul this wasn't Perry's idea, that his friend was reluctantly bowing to the independent streak in the woman he loved, his own stubbornness not allowing him to accompany her back to Los Angeles.

None of them spoke until Perry assisted Della into the low-slung car, his hand resting fleetingly on her backside, one last tactile connection before she was gone. He crouched on his haunches, his face inches from hers. "I promised you three weeks at the lake house," he said quietly, "and I'm going to keep that promise."

She smiled faintly and touched his cheek with butterfly soft fingertips. "I love you," she whispered. They had said everything two hours ago as he had loved her yet again, her cries of pleasure his pleasure, her trembling release his release. He realized that in the past twenty-four hours he had made love to her more than he had touched Maryann the entire ninety-three days of their marriage, but could find no proper way to convey that fact. She had already been exposed to too much of his intimate past with Laura and Ellen, and now with Maryann. In retrospect he shouldn't have been so honest with her, but at the same time he shouldn't have kept Maryann a secret from her. There was no middle ground as their life had progressed, interwoven with the reappearance of his past loves, unwanted intrusions on the happiness they found in each other. She was the woman he wanted, the woman who filled is thoughts and dreams, the woman he would love until his dying breath. He had done everything wrong, had hurt her in ways she didn't deserve, and yet she could still say she loved him. What he was doing now probably hurt her as well, but he would never break another promise to her again. He had promised to stay at the lake house for three weeks, and however moot the point might be, that was what he was going to do, to prove that she meant more to him than the adrenaline rush he got from diving into a new case.

"I'll be home next Sunday," he told her, searching her eyes for confirmation that everything was truly okay, that she wasn't running away from him because of him, but because of herself.

"I'll be there."

He stood then, the heaviness in his heart lightened somewhat. Paul started the engine and pulled away from the stately Grand Fowler a bit more quickly than necessary.

* * *

><p>"That's some sparkler you've got there," Paul commented lightly. "Are you going to tell me about it, or will I have to read about it in the paper like everyone else?" He was tired of her quietness, of her hiding behind large sunglasses and the billowy scarf tied around her head.<p>

Della stared at the ring Perry had placed on her finger, the ring his mother told him to gift wisely, the ring she wanted, the ring she shouldn't have accepted but couldn't give back. "Neither," she replied, twisting the fiery emerald around and around her finger.

"Della," Paul began with the chiding tone of an indulgent parent, "Perry's been my friend for a lot of years, and I always thought you and I were friends as well. Why do you insist upon hiding what I already know?"

"Because it's nobody's business but ours," she replied steadily, matter-of-factly, confident in her explanation after years of telling herself the same thing.

"That, Beautiful, is a load of bull crap," he declared. "You can't shut out the people who care for you. I'm no dummy, Della. I've known how it is with the two of you since…well, for a long time. You make him happy, and he makes you happy. That makes me happy."

Della absorbed Paul's words as the miles flew by, sitting cross-legged on the bucket seat, the warm summer wind rippling her scarf.

"He does make me happy," she said abruptly. "I want to make him happy, but I can't, not truly. I can't be what he wants me to be."

"From what I see and hear, he's quite satisfied with who you are."

Della shook her head. "No, he wants things I can't give him."

"Della, you aren't…going back to Los Angeles without him…you aren't leaving him, are you?"

She shook her head again. "I'm not that selfless," she said, staring down at Lyla Mason's ring. The ring he had remade to fit her perfectly.

"Then why is he going back to Harvey's house and you're going Los Angeles?"

"Did you know Perry bought into the house under my name?"

Paul took his eyes from the road to give her a stunned look. "No," he admitted. He had noticed the redecorating, the comfortable furnishings and knick-knacks appearing over the years, guessing it had been her making the house a home and not any of Harvey's many unsuitable wives.

"Did you know that I am Perry's sole beneficiary?"

Paul was silent. After years of knowing very little, he suddenly knew too much. He didn't know which he preferred. "No," he admitted again.

"He's given me everything, and I can't give him the only thing he's ever asked for." She began twisting the ring on her finger again.

Paul studied her intently before shifting his eyes back to the sun bleached road ahead of him. He could see how difficult it was for her to talk about her private life with Perry and he was ashamed of being perturbed by Tragg's superior knowledge of his friend's relationship. He had wondered why they weren't married. Now he knew. He felt as if he should say something reassuring, but could think of nothing.

"I don't want him to regret his life," she went on miserably, "but I can't let him go."

"Della, if he wanted to go, he would go."

"He's certainly proven that," she pointed out. "Just ask Maryann Baynum."

Paul took his hand from the wheel and plucked her left hand from her lap, held it up so that the sun caught the facets of the enormous emerald. "I'd say this proves he has no intention of going anywhere."

"It was his mother's. I shouldn't be wearing it. I can't fulfill the meaning behind it." Her words were fretful, spoken in staccato bursts.

Paul's hand gently closed over hers. "Perry doesn't give of himself easily," he said slowly. "He doesn't trifle with women, and Lord knows he's made some bad choices over the years that knocked him back on his heels. When I realized he was pursuing you, I knew it was different for him. I can't find a single fault in his decision to give you his mother's ring."

"You're a good friend, Paul. I'm sorry you felt we were shutting you out."

"Do I turn around and take you back to the lake house?"

She removed the large sunglasses and closed her eyes, letting the wind dry tears Paul hadn't been aware she had shed. "No," she replied. "Would you take me to Bolero Beach?"

* * *

><p>Mae Kirby stood in the doorway and watched the tall, silver-haired man unload her niece's luggage from the small sports car and place it on the curb per Della's insistent directions. Della then squeezed the man's hand, kissed his cheek quickly, and left him standing in the street, a plainly worried expression on his face, as she hurried up the steps to greet her aunt with an effusive hug. Over Della's shoulder Mae waved at Paul Drake as he drove away, her expression as worried as the detective's.<p>

Mae linked her arm through Della's and pulled her into the house. "It's so good to see you, dear. I've got the guest room all ready."

Della stopped and stared at her aunt, suspicions alert. "I didn't know I was coming here until a couple of hours ago," she said. "How did you know to get the room ready?"

Mae walked silently to the closed door to the guest room and opened it. On the bed was a velvet box, tied with a white ribbon, gold beads threaded through the ends of each ribbon tail.

"He knows you well," Mae observed.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Della held the velvet box in shaking hands, undecided whether she was angry or touched. How did he know she would go to Mae's and not back to her apartment? And how had he managed to have her anniversary gift delivered before she arrived? She fingered the gold beads at the ribbon ends. All her other gifts had been adorned with colorful crystal beads.

"I take it you had a fight with Perry," Mae said from the doorway. "Is this a peace offering?"

"It's my anniversary gift," she replied without thinking.

"Anniversary? What anniversary?" Mae asked with an edge of alarm in her voice. She had immediately noticed the emerald ring on her niece's left hand.

Della turned guiltily toward her aunt. "The anniversary of the day we met. I've asked him not to give me gifts, but he always does."

"Aren't you going to open it?"

Della set the large flat box back down on the bed and wearily pushed wind tousled curls from her face. "No. I'm not. I can't right now."

"Can you at least explain the ring on your finger and why you're here? What's wrong, Della?" Mae was nearly caught off guard by her niece's sudden collapse into her arms.

"He was married," Della said in an agonized whisper. "He was married and I met her."

* * *

><p>Mae Kirby didn't like Perry Mason the first time Della brought him to dinner at her little house two blocks from the beach. He reminded her of Della's father, as well as of her ex-husband, handsome, confident, commanding men accustomed to being in charge and getting their way. Mae knew all too well the pain a man like Perry Mason could inflict on a woman.<p>

The second time Della had shown up with him, Mae noticed a change in their demeanor. Perry was quieter, his eyes softer as he gazed at Della across the table. They shared little private jokes and when he wanted a cigarette, Della reached naturally into her purse for his case and lighter. For her part, Della moved around him with a confidence borne of familiarity, an almost intimate knowledge of the man who was her boss. Mae was more concerned than ever for her niece.

The third time he accompanied Della for a visit was when Mae slapped him.

They were spending the night, Della in the guest room, Perry at the hotel two blocks away on the waterfront because Mae had invited them to the annual gala of her pet charity. The gala was being held in the ballroom of the hotel, and Perry hired a limousine to pick up several of the ladies on the chair committee, including Mae, who he escorted into the ballroom on his immaculately tuxedoed arm amid gasps of recognition and impressed admiration for her acquaintance with the noted attorney. The entire evening he charmed her lady friends, danced tirelessly with those brave enough to approach him, and anonymously donated a sum that pushed the total well beyond goal.

Mae watched Perry Mason closely that night as he finally managed to sneak Della out onto the dance floor, watched as he held her niece against his broad chest, guiding her through a perfect waltz, his hand splayed across her bare back, his cheek nestled into the soft curls at her forehead. Della was enraptured, her wide eyes closed as she followed his intricate steps without fault, leaving no doubt that they danced together often.

In the limousine throughout the route to drop off the chair committee members, Perry unobtrusively held Della's hand, the fluffy folds of her dress hiding their affection from everyone but keen-eyed Mae. At Mae's house Perry dismissed the limousine, insisting that walking back to the hotel would be good for him. As they made their way up the walkway toward the wraparound porch, a balmy breeze blowing off the ocean caused Della's silk skirt to whisper eerily and they all laughed. Della's hand was still tucked into Perry's, and it was apparent to Mae that the couple needed time to themselves. She bounced onto her toes and kissed Perry's cheek lightly, thanking him for the wonderful evening.

Inside the house she took off her evening gown and carefully hung it from the bathroom shower rod on a padded satin hanger. By the time she had changed into pajamas, scrubbed the make-up from her face and brushed her teeth, Della had not yet entered the house. Hating herself for what she was about to do, Mae flattened herself against the wall and ever so slightly moved the lace curtain from the window so she could peer out onto the porch.

They were still standing on the walkway, a foot or so from the porch stairs facing each other, simply staring into each other's eyes. Their fingers were entwined between, but otherwise they weren't touching. Abruptly Della turned and put one foot on the bottom porch stair. Perry maintained a hold on one of her hands, pulling her back gently as his head lowered and kissed her upturned mouth tenderly. Della ducked her head shyly as Perry raised her captured hand to his lips and kissed the palm. She was gone quickly in a swirl of filmy skirts, running lightly up the stairs, leaving him grinning after her for a moment before taking a few steps backward down the walkway and turning toward the hotel.

No heartless playboy looked at a woman like that. No confirmed bachelor out for the score kissed a woman so tenderly, so lovingly. Maybe she had been wrong about Perry Mason.

The next morning when he came to pick up Della, Mae drew him into the kitchen on the pretense of helping her with a basket of baked goods she had packed for them. Once the door swung shut she rounded on him and slapped his face.

"Mae!" He exclaimed, more out of surprise than physical pain.

"She's the best thing that will ever happen to you in your life," she told him in a hushed tone.

"Yes, she is," he agreed readily.

"Be good to her."

"I intend to be."

Her eyes, so similar in shape and color to Della's, locked his in an intense stare. Then she laughed. "Shook you up, didn't I?"

* * *

><p>"Has he lost his mind?" Mae asked. "Why would he take you to meet his former wife?" She was trying to wrap her mind around all the fascinatingly tragic details of the past few days in her niece's life and failing.<p>

Della grimaced. "I insisted."

"Then why are you so mad at him?" Mae knew better than anyone how stubborn Della was, how difficult she could be when she got an idea into her head. Like now.

"He didn't tell me about her," Della said, patiently explaining once again the root of Perry's transgression. "Imagine how I felt when something I had no idea about threatened my life. What else has he not told me that could jump out at us some day?"

"Oh, I think this is most likely a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, dear," Mae assured her.

Della frowned at her aunt. The only person more practical than her was Mae. But now when she didn't want to be practical, didn't want to be logical, Mae couldn't be anything but.

"Della, your life is unusual and exciting, and most people couldn't possibly understand the things you do or why you do them. I freely admit I questioned your dedication to Perry when he first hired you, but you were so happy, so satisfied with your job that I couldn't tell you my misgivings. Then I met him and realized it was him as much as the job you loved. Do you still love him?"

"More than I can put into words."

"Why do you sound so sad when you say that?"

"Because he wants to marry me."

Mae sighed deeply. "Della, only you would see that as anything but a fine thing."

"You wouldn't," she charged.

"With the right man, marriage can be wonderful," she said, attempting to deflect Della from her failed marriage.

"You thought Garret was the right man," she reminded her aunt about her ex-husband.

"No, I didn't think much at all when it came to Garret. You, on the other hand, have overthought everything about Perry."

"Perry reminds you of Garret."

"At first maybe," Mae admitted, "but as I got to know him, I realized he couldn't be more different. Della, what does that man have to do to prove he loves you enough for you to marry him?"

Della blinked at the way her aunt phrased the question. "That's not why I can't marry him. Marriage would damage us. Nothing would be the same."

"If he's willing to let things change, why can't you be?"

"Because he doesn't know himself as well as I know him."

Mae wrinkled her forehead. "What on earth does that mean?"

"It means that I can't possibly marry him."

"You're making me dizzy with this circular reasoning," Mae complained. "There are such rewarding benefits to marriage…"

"I have all the benefits I can handle."

Mae eyebrows shot up in shock. "Della Katherine!"

"Good grief, Aunt Mae, you didn't think we've been chastely kissing at my door and retiring to our separate apartments all these years, did you?" This was precisely why she preferred to keep her private life to herself.

"I realize your generation has a different set of morals than mine…I just hope you two know what you're doing."

"We manage quite nicely."

"Della! I really don't need to be slapped in the face with details." Her niece had a wicked side that vexed her sometimes. "Are you going to tell me about the ring now?"

Della glanced down at her hand. The ring was so beautiful. She loved it, loved the history behind it, loved that he had remade it for her. She wanted it, but felt unworthy of its history, of the meaning behind it. "It was his mother's," she said quietly.

"How very special, Della."

"He said he's wanted to give it to me for years, but the time was never right. When he gave it to me, he told me I was the only woman he had ever asked to marry him."

"That is horrible! I would have run away, too."

Della sighed at her aunt's sarcasm. "He gave it to me because in a moment of weakness I admitted that maybe I didn't want to be introduced as only his secretary for the rest of my life."

"So you think he tried to take advantage of that chink in your armor? Della, the man loves you. He wants to show you he loves you. Let him."

"He'll think I can marry him now – now that I've accepted this ring."

"What else did he say when he gave the ring to you?"

Della pursed her lips thoughtfully. "His mother told him to choose wisely who he gave the ring to, that I was his choice, and that it was my choice whether or not I wore it." She frowned. There was something more, something she couldn't quite remember.

"That doesn't sound like he expects you to begin planning a wedding, dear. That sounds like he's perfectly happy to let things remain on your terms."

She remembered then. Remembered what it was that he had said. "_I will love you the rest of my life, Della. All I ask is that you let me love you for however long that might be."_

He did love her. There was no doubt. But what she hadn't realized before was that he would fight for that love only so long as she let him, because he loved her and wanted nothing but happiness for her. Now she was dizzy from the circular reasoning, but it began to make sense. He loved her enough to let her dictate how they lived their life, loved her enough to legally do what he could to provide for her within the boundaries she set, loved her enough to let her be independent and stubborn and just plain foolish.

She literally fell out of the chair in her effort to get to the bedroom and the velvet box she had so carelessly tossed onto the counterpane. She walked back into her aunt's cozy living room with the box, her hands again shaking. "I have to let him love me," she said softly. "How did you know?"

Mae smiled at her niece. "I've watched him try to love you for over seven years, Della, watched while you controlled when and where and how and to whom your true relationship would be revealed. I've watched him give of himself as I expect he never has, only to have you chastise him. Like your anniversary gifts. He wants to please you, and you've told him not to. Why would you do that? I've watched him reach out to touch you, then withdraw because I was in the room. He needs to express his feelings for you more openly than you've allowed. He should be able to kiss you in front of me after all these years."

Della was shaking uncontrollably now, remembering the kiss on the street outside the adobe restaurant and its potential to expose their true relationship, her mortification at Tragg's admission he had heard them making love, how they had slighted Paul by excluding him from the most important part of their life. "If I'm so awful," she whispered, "how could he possibly love me?"

Mae smiled again. "Because, dear, you really are quite lovable despite this one flaw. I blame myself for part of your aversion to marriage, and I wish I could change what happened, what you witnessed with Garret. I didn't choose wisely, but Della, you did."

Della could barely slide the ribbon from the box her hands were shaking so, dropping it on the floor and making several attempts to lift the lid before finally revealing what lay nestled within.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh."

Mae stood and walked toward her trembling niece, peering curiously into the box. She gasped at the vivid flashes of color coiled among folds of rich black velvet.

Della pulled the coil slowly from the box. "My beads," she whispered in awe. The necklace was impossibly long, and as she looped it around her neck three times the love and forethought he had put into the gift overwhelmed her.

"I'm no expert, Della, but I believe these are Swarovski rounds. This necklace is worth a fortune."

"My beads," she repeated. "He strung my beads." She fingered the necklace in shock. "All the beads from the ribbons…like this," she indicated the gold beads on the ribbon that had encircled the velvet box. "He's been planning this for years...giving me gifts with beads tied to the ribbons."

Mae's eyes shone with giddy happiness for her niece. "Looks like he's got another plan," she said with a definite catch in her voice as retrieved the discarded ribbon and placed it in Della's hand. She turned away and wiped a tear from her cheek. "I'll drive you to the airport."


	25. Chapter 25

_Whew! That figurative red editing pencil is worn to a nothing but a nub, but here it is, the end of this particular story in my P&D universe. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting, I can't tell you how much it means to me that what I write is actually being read. ~ D_

Chapter 25

The washed-out road had finally been reopened the day before, for which Della was grateful. Arriving by boat would have required a significant change in her plan, and she liked the plan just as it was.

Just beyond the wash-out, at the curve that led to the point, she pulled the rented sedan to the side of the road, jumped out and dove into the back seat to lay the groundwork for her plan. Capris, twinset, and undergarments were stuffed into a tote bag and she struggled into a white summer weight trench coat, belting it tightly around her slim waist. She adjusted the crystal necklace, tucking it out of sight beneath the coat, raising the collar so that it brushed her finger-tousled curls, the way Perry liked her hair best. Flat shoes were kicked off and replaced with the beaded white satin open-toed sandals that matched her sundress. When she emerged from the back seat, she fervently hoped that none of the neighbors were anywhere near to see her transformation. She started the car, turned off the headlights, and drove slowly toward the lake house.

* * *

><p>Perry had set the table an hour ago, lit the hurricane lamps, reduced the venison stew to a low simmer and sat down in one of the club chairs to wait. It was a perfect plan. If he knew her, and he did, her resiliency and practicality would win out over her anger at him. She would walk through the door any minute.<p>

The throw pillows on the sofa didn't look quite right, so he got up to rearrange them in a burst of nervous energy, and as he stood back to assess his handiwork, he heard the car pull up to the house. He smiled to himself as her light footsteps hurried up the stairs and across the deck toward him.

* * *

><p>She paused at the glass French doors, sucking in a deep happy breath to be back at this house, her house, <em><strong>their<strong>_ house. He was inside, leaning against the back of a club chair, arms crossed over his chest, expectantly waiting for her to open the door, his blue gaze burning through the glass of the door directly into her heart.

Of course he expected her. The fact didn't perturb her as it might have a few days ago. He loved her enough to let her go, confident that she loved him enough to find her way back to him. The necklace had hurried things along, which spoke to his impatience, but she was glad for it. To hell with ex-wives and rearranged perspectives. She needed him. And Lord knew he needed her.

"You're late," he said as she stepped through the door and closed it quietly behind her. "Dinner has been ready for almost an hour."

"I had to go to three stores to get the wine," she explained, holding up the bottles clutched in her hands.

He pushed away from the chair and walked slowly toward her, relieving her of the wine bottles and bending to kiss her ever so softly on the lips. "I can accept that excuse." He regarded her with smoldering eyes. "How's Mae?"

"Practical. Intuitive. She sends her love."

"I'm fairly certain I owe her a debt of gratitude."

"I'm fairly certain we both do." She couldn't stop staring at him, this big, handsome man she loved so much. "I will never run away from you again."

He bent and kissed her, less softly this time. "Beautiful girl," he said gently, his lips leaving her mouth and traveling across her exquisite cheekbone.

"Aren't you going to open the wine?"

He chuckled. "Since you went to all the trouble to buy it, I suppose we should drink it." He turned and walked toward the kitchen. "I also suppose you're hungry."

"Ravenous," she called after him.

He puttered in the kitchen, his back to her as he fiddled with the wine opener and wine glasses, stirred the stew. "The only food in the house was some of Harvey's frozen venison stew. I was understandably a bit distracted and forgot to stop at a store on my way up from Sacramento."

"We can go into town tomorrow." The direction of her voice was different.

He picked up both wine glasses in one hand and grabbed the bottle with the other, turning toward the table where it sounded like she had moved.

And she had.

She had also shed the trench coat and was sitting in a straight-backed chair at the table, long slender legs crossed, her bruised left arm propped on the table as she played with one loop of the colorful necklace.

Gloriously, unabashedly nude.

She slowly bounced one foot as he drank in the sight of her, voice strangled in his throat. Six years as lovers and at this moment it was as if he had never seen her before. He couldn't imagine a more beautiful woman, because there simply wasn't one. Wine sloshed in the glasses as his hands began to tremble. The smile she flashed was wicked and eminently satisfied.

With determined concentration he set the wine bottle down on the table and handed one of the glasses to her. She raised the glass to her full lips, wide eyes dark and lustful as she regarded him over the rim. He took a healthy swallow from his own glass and gathered every ounce of dignity available to him.

"Nice necklace," he said.

The End


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